


What Are Morals Without Morality?

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Beetlejuice References, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Chaotic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Character Death, Death, Everyone Has Issues, Family Loss, Flirting, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Morally Neutral Deceit Sanders, Multi, Murder, Patton and Deceit adopted Virgil at different parts of his life, Possession, References to Depression, Sexual Humor, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, but they were never together, hence why he refers to them both as his dads, idk what else to tag, remy becomes a side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22391488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Virgil’s tired. Tired of losing the people he cares about, tired of hypocrisy and lies, tired of the pain in his chest and the anxious voices in his mind. Tired of being invisible.But, right when he considers fading into the Subconscious, he meets someone who changes the whole game.For better or for worse.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Everyone, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Comments: 24
Kudos: 97





	1. Invisible / The Whole "Being Dead" Thing

The loss hits them all unexpectedly.

Thomas is the first to find out, of course—after all, having emotions one minute and then feeling nothing at all the next cues him in quickly enough to the fact Patton is no longer with him.

Roman is close behind, the emotional connection to his work gone in an instant, unable to finish anything he starts due to the frustrating fact that everything turns to mush in his mind, each work of art lacking any sense of passion.

Logan finds out from Roman, having to deal with the other Side barging into his room and accusing him of tampering with his work.

Virgil finds out from the other two, who come to him asking if he’s feeling alright, and their refusal to answer his questions or look into his eyes clues him in that something is wrong.

And then, the ceiling of the mind palace flashes blue, and all of them feel a stabbing pain in their chest and an absence so hollow that it brings them to their knees.

From that moment, they all knew.

Patton is gone.

Their morality is dead.

They should have known that they aren’t the only ones who became aware of Morality’s disappearance. They aren’t the only inhabitants of Thomas’ mind, after all—it only makes sense that the others would know as well.

And yet, when Deceit comes to Thomas with a proposition, they all find themselves at a loss for words.

At least at first.

“A temporary truce,” Deceit declares, clapping his hands together with an absolutely smug look on his face, smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees the other Sides’ disbelieving faces. “Like the rest of you, I wish to protect Thomas, and it’s clear he definitely needs my help more than ever. So, until this little problem is solved, I am willing to work with you—all I ask is that you allow me to handle the, ah, nature of Thomas’ reputation. Just to keep people unaware of our little situation.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Virgil immediately growls, narrowing his eyes at the other Side. Roman and Logan share equal expressions of distrust, standing beside the anxious side as he stalks over to Deceit, jabbing a finger into the other Side’s chest, “do you really think we’re stupid enough to let Thomas around you right after Patton died? Because if you say ‘why, yes, I totally thought we could be a team,’ I’ve got news for you, _Dad_ , you’ve got another thing coming. There is no way in hell we’re letting Thomas hang out with the Side that literally represents the _opposite_ of everything Patton stood for.”

Deceit grins, folding his hands in front of him. “Oh, _do_ tell me how unnecessary I am,” he says, leaning forward when Virgil’s glare worsens.

“You’re unnecessary _and_ untrustworthy. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Deceit quirks an eyebrow, “Perhaps—though, I’m totally not here because Thomas doesn’t want my help. I mean, it’d be ridiculous for me to show up right after his morality disappeared—there’s no possible way those things could be connected what’s so ever, no reason for Thomas to call upon me during a time like this.” Then, leaning back, he says with a shrug, “Besides, if we want to talk about how much of a bad influence Sides can be, we could certainly start going down the list. I wonder—can Thomas trust someone who consistently makes him paranoid at any given turn? Can he trust a Side that makes him second-guess himself at every turn, makes him doubt everything he knows?”

Virgil narrows his eyes, “Don’t.”

“I was only talking about your past—no need to get so defensive! Unless you haven’t changed as much as you like to make others think?”

“ ** _Enough_** ,” Virgil hisses, his eyes flashing purple.

Deceit’s smile widens. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Virgil. Whether you like it or not, Thomas needs me—and he’s going to need my help if he wants to keep his friends and family around.”

Virgil shakes his head, taking a step away from the deceptive side and instead turning to Thomas. He gestures in Deceit’s direction, “Thomas, tell him to leave.”

But to his surprise, the human doesn’t say anything.

“…You can’t seriously sit there and tell me you’re considering working with him!”

Thomas shrinks away, avoiding his gaze. His voice comes out small, their host scratching at his arm as he sputters out, “I—I don’t know? I—I don’t really know what to do.”

Virgil gawks. “Oh, my God. You’re actually considering it.”

“…I mean, if it’s only for a little while—”

Virgil throws his arms up in the air, turning his back to the human and shouting, “Unbelievable! Un-fucking-believable! This is—this is ridiculous, I can’t believe I’m hearing this right now, holy shit—”

“Virgil,” Logan warns, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder, “calm down—”

“Don’t touch me.” Virgil tears himself from Logan’s grasp, twisting himself away. He paces, wringing his hands as he walks, face reddening the more time passes. Then, his glare fixed onto Thomas, he says, “You know what? _Fine_. You want to play around with a snake, you do that.”

Thomas blinks, “Okay—”

Virgil grabs him by the front of his shirt, forcing the human to look at him. “But I want to make something clear: if you so much as _think_ about calling yourself a ‘good person’ after this, you better be damned sure I’ll remind you of the fact you threw that away to be safe and cozy with Deceit. Because you and I both know that Patton would not have tolerated this under any circumstances.”

“Patton is the whole reason we’re in this situation,” Thomas reminds him.

“Patton is not the reason for this because he’s dead, Thomas.”

“Then I guess he doesn’t have any complaints, now, does he?”

Virgil’s eyes fill with tears. Swallowing passed the lump forming in his throat, he steps back, holding his hands up in surrender, “Fine. Fine, you know what? I’ll just get right out of your hair. I don’t want to work with someone who wants to follow the lead of a lying snake, anyway.”

Roman reaches for him, “Easy, Panic At the Everywhere, no need to duck out—”

“I’m not ‘ducking out.’ And you all better stop telling me how to handle this right now before I give you nightmares for the next year.” Virgil pauses. Closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He turns on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets, “You guys have fun. I’m out.”

Though Virgil doesn’t see it, there’s a flicker of panic on Logan’s face as he reaches for him, trying to stop him, “Virgil, don’t leave.”

“Yeah, come on, Vi, we need you here,” Roman tries.

But the anxious side doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around—doesn’t so much as acknowledge them.

He sinks out of the room, leaving Roman and Logan alone with Deceit and Thomas, the latter of which don’t seem overly concerned with Virgil’s exit.

Roman turns to them, face twisting with rage, “Well? Are you happy with yourselves?”

Deceit shrugs, though the smug twinge of his smile says enough. Thomas barely raises an eyebrow.

Roman lets out an exasperated sigh. Shaking his head, he turns to leave, stopping only when Logan grabs him.

“Where are you going?” Logan demands. He waves in Thomas’ direction, “We haven’t been dismissed, and leaving Thomas alone with _him_ is ill-advised.”

“Where do you think?” Roman steps back, glaring at the other Side, “Back to the Imagination. I have work to do.”

Logan grits his teeth, “I would argue that your make-believe can wait two minutes—”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

A pause.

“…If you need to do something, you can go do it,” Thomas tells them, shrugging. “I don’t mind.”

“Thomas, no, that’s not—”

“Of course _you_ don’t mind,” Roman interrupts, rolling his eyes. He turns to Logan, “Did you want to come with, or did you want to stick around with Fibber on the Roof?”

Logan swallows. Though usually calm, Roman notices how tense his shoulders are, his mouth pressed thin to keep from saying something he shouldn’t—or just flat out can’t—say.

Then, jaw clenched, Logan sighs, giving Roman a nod. “Alright,” he mutters, “alright. I’ll go.” Then, glancing in Thomas’ direction, he says, “You know how to contact us if necessary.”

“Oh, have some faith in me, Logan,” Deceit chuckles, missing the twisted, pained expression on their host’s face. The Side waves them off, “Go off on your little adventure. I’ll take care of Thomas.”

Logan opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word in, Roman pulls him away, both of them sinking out and leaving Thomas with Deceit—unaware that it would be a long time before they’d see the two face-to-face again.

All because the last of Thomas’ Sides became aware of Patton’s passing.

“—I’m sorry, you have a _brother_?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why wasn’t I informed of this? Do the others know about him?”

Roman, who looks unbelievably exhausted, just shakes his head and says, “Can we stop playing twenty questions and just get this over with?”

Roman’s look-alike—Remus, he calls himself—cackles atop his throne made of blood and bone, the monsters at his feet breaking into fits of giggles. “Aw, come on, bro, don’t be like that! You’re the one that dropped in on me for a surprise visit—the least you could do is be nice.”

Roman’s eye twitches, the creative Side ignoring the urge to charge the other Side with his sword, “I’d say I’m doing a decent job at that, all things considered.”

“I still can’t believe you hid this from me.” Logan looks between the two of them, trying to ignore the creature tugging at his pant leg. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is, hiding Sides from other Sides?”

Roman notices and picks up the monster, gently setting it down a few steps away from them, watching it run off and immediately into a pit of lava. He winces, trying to hide the shiver that runs down his spine, “Do you blame me for not wanting to talk about this?”

“Mm, yes, _do_ you blame him, Logan?” Remus coos. He slinks off his throne, walking over to them with a mace thrown casually over his shoulder, face splitting into a wide, sharp-toothed grin. “Not everyone has a sexy, lovable piece of ass for a brother. I mean, come on, he has to keep the competition away somehow!”

“I would not use ‘sexy’ or ‘lovable’ to describe you,” Logan deadpans. Then, looking around at the brimstone and hellfire, he says, “A cliché demonic apparition would be more accurate.”

“Cliché demons, sexy and lovable—same thing.”

“It absolutely is not— _hey_ —”

Logan yelps when he feels another tug on his pants, leaning closer to Roman as he meets the squinty gaze of another creature, this one clinging to his leg with its tail wrapped around him.

Remus grabs the creature by the scruff of its neck and dropkicks it away, turning back to them with a wicked glint in his eye. “So, _Creativity_ , is this about the whole ‘being dead’ thing?”

Roman and Logan both flinch.

“Elaborate, please,” Logan murmurs, internally cursing how small his voice sounds.

“Gladly!” Remus stalks around them, studying them, smile growing bigger as he talks, “Powder Blue kicked the bucket a little over an hour ago, right? Which means everyone’s trying to clean up the mess—” his grin widens when he meets Roman’s eyes, “—and keep their dirty little secrets under wraps.”

“I wouldn’t call the embodiment of Thomas’ forbidden thoughts ‘little,’” Roman says, the statement startling Logan enough that he whips around to stare at Roman.

“Your brother is _Intrusive Th_ —?”

“Don’t.”

Remus’ grin widens, “Still your dirty secret, Ro-Ro.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Roman’s eyes flash red, the Side raising his voice.

The other makes a noncommittal shrug, spinning around and walking back to his throne, setting his mace aside as he takes a seat. “Hey, it’s not like it’s any of my business. If you all want to run around like chickens who’ve lost their heads, be my guest. Just, y’know, once you’re done being whiny and lame, feel free to give me a call and I’ll do my thing. Your old pal Trusi’s always got a trick or two up his sleeves to get things working in your favor.”

Roman narrows his eyes. “It may be unnecessary to say this,” he starts, leaning forward with his hand on the handle of his sword, “but you will very much _not_ do your thing. Thomas is going through enough; the last thing he needs is your… _suggestions_ keeping him awake at night.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, “I don’t understand why you’re threatening him with your sword. You can’t kill Sides with that.”

“No, but I can kick the shit out of him with it.”

“Ah, just like old times!” Remus snorts. “If you wanted to spar, Roman, you could’ve just said so. You know I _love_ bloodbaths!”

“I would prefer not to—which is why I’m here to tell you to leave Thomas alone.”

Remus’ eyes glow green. “Oh? Is that an order?”

Roman realizes his mistake and sighs. “A request,” he amends. “Just until things blow over.”

“Mm—interesting.” Remus leans back in his throne, considering it. “And what does my wonderful, princely brother have to offer me in return for my cooperation?”

“Your head remaining on your shoulders.”

“You and I both know you can’t do that.”

“Maybe not, but I know someone who could.”

The smile on Remus’ face falls. He narrows his eyes, “…I didn’t take you as one to work with Double-D, Ro-Ro.”

“Yeah, Roman,” Logan hisses through clenched teeth, “I didn’t think that, either.”

Roman just shrugs. “Thomas is, and because _he_ is, that must mean Deceit can work some of his magic to keep _Intrusive Thoughts_ —” he spits out the name like as though it were poison, “—under control.”

Remus hums. Drums his fingers on the arm of his throne. “…Alright, fine,” he groans, sticking out his tongue, “I’ll hide just a little longer. But you can’t hide me from Tomathy forever, Ro-Ro—and eventually, you’re all gonna have to accept all the nasty little details about life. Including death and dying.”

“I don’t see why we would need _your_ help with that,” Logan says, eyebrows furrowed.

Remus chuckles. “Who else would be better suited to tell him all the juicy details about everything awful and disturbing in the world?”

“We don’t need your help with that,” Roman grounds out. “And neither does Thomas, especially not right after Morality’s disappeared. He has enough problems as it is.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Maybe not _yet_. But now that Morality is dead—” a grin when the other two flinch, “—you’re going to get weaker, which means it’s only a matter of time before he’ll need me around.” He glances around at his part of the Imagination, waving a hand in the air, “And you’re just going to have to accept that, when the time comes, _this_ is what he’s going to be thinking about.”

“Even if you have a point,” Roman snaps before he can stop himself, “you have no influence over him unless one of us calls on you, and considering you can only be seen by those of us who are aware of Thomas’ intrusive thoughts, that doesn’t leave many people who can do that. And nobody who _does_ know about you is stupid or desperate enough to let you run wild, so you can keep dreaming.”

A strange look crosses Remus’ face, “I will.”

The other Sides hesitate.

Then, Roman takes a step back, casting a glance around his brother’s part of the Imagination before he starts to sink out, “Just don’t do anything stupid, Remus.”

“I make no promises,” Remus sing-songs, giving his brother an enthusiastic wave as he exits. Then, turning to Logan, he says, “So, about that ‘not sexy’ thing, because I can totally prove my stuff if you want—”

Logan immediately sinks through the floor, “Goodbye, Remus.”

Remus laughs, turning to one of the leeches crawling up his throne. He flicks it away, rolling his eyes.

“Princey might have himself fooled,” he says out loud to himself with a shrug, “but he knows I’m right. Whether they like it or not, I’m here for a reason—and Thomas is going to need me.”

Death just needs a little conversation, after all—and if they want to heal, they’re going to need to start talking.

All he has to do is wait.


	2. Dead Mom

For two sides who are known for “constantly being at each other’s throats,” the hallway between Roman and Logan’s rooms is surprisingly quiet.

It’s been like that for weeks—ever since they came back from the Imagination, as a matter of fact, a fact that confuses Virgil enough considering Logan never went into the Imagination, let alone because Roman just wanted him to. He’s tried to ask them about it, but whatever had happened in there seemed to have bothered them enough to keep it from him, giving Virgil no more than an excuse of “just some much-needed maintenance” before locking themselves up in their rooms, losing themselves in their own respective bubbles.

Which, whatever, Virgil doesn’t really care about that. Thomas hasn’t asked for any of them other than Deceit since Patton’s disappearance, so it isn’t like they have to leave their rooms as much nowadays.

But there’s still a pain in his chest and a tremor in his hands at the thought, and it’s all he can do not to tear their doors off their hinges, drag them out of their rooms and chew them out for receding into the back of Thomas’ mind and leaving him all alone.

Virgil chews on his thumb, trying to snap himself out of his thoughts.

He can’t even imagine what they could both possibly be working on for this long. Or, well, he could; they’re Creativity and Logic, respectively, so it’d have to be things involving their functions as those Sides. But the thing is, neither of them could possibly be making any progress without the other, which is why the silence of the hallway makes his hair stand on end and his nerves nearly jump out of his skin.

Without logic, stories don’t make sense.

Without creativity, life becomes bland, meaningless. Boring.

Without either, Virgil has no “out” for Thomas’ anxiety, which leaves Virgil with too many feelings and not a lot to do with them.

And sure, neither could agree on what’s “best” for Thomas, always at each other’s throats—but they could always put their differing beliefs aside for Thomas’ sake, meeting in the middle to get things done. Debating it out until a compromise was reached.

But not anymore. And apparently, not ever again, if their doors remain closed and Thomas continues to ignore their existence in favor of Deceit’s guidance.

Virgil walks down the hall now, fingers dragging along the wall as he moves, casting a glance to their rooms as he passes. His heart jumps to his throat, and he swallows, pausing long enough that that familiar urge washes over him, the urge to yell at them to get out and talk it out, or just talk to _him_ , crossing his mind.

And then his anxiety spikes and his resolve curls up in his chest and dies, and he turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets and continuing to Patton’s room.

He can’t enter it. Nobody can—they haven’t been able to in weeks. For all they know, the room no longer exists beyond the door with the heart-and-glasses symbol stamped onto it, leaving nothing but an all-consuming void that now exemplifies Thomas’ heart.

But he can sit outside, can lean against the door and knock, can listen and pretend that there’s something on the other side, even if for his own comfort.

Virgil raps his knuckles against the wooden frame, sinking down and pulling his knees to his chest. He sighs.

“Heya, Popstar.”

Silence. Not like he expected an answer anyway.

Leaning his head back, blowing his bangs from his face, Virgil closes his eyes, tapping his fingers on the carpet. “It’s been about a month, now. Can you believe it? We’ve actually lasted that long without you. Kinda shocking, all things considered.”

Fingers through his hair. A burning in the back of his throat.

Virgil clears his throat and forces himself to keep talking—anything to get the thoughts out of his head, “Not gonna lie, Pat, I, uh—I really could use your help. Things are awful right now and I don’t know what to do.”

_This is ridiculous. There’s nobody on the other side—nothing there at all. He’s dead and gone and there’s no way he can hear you._

“I already told you how Thomas won’t summon any of us except for Deceit, so I’ll spare you that sob story. But, uh, I’m—I’m worried. It’s been weeks, and he’s only getting worse. Not, like, unbearable, but—last time we talked, Deceit said Thomas couldn’t feel anything. Like, at all. He even said it’s almost like he’s physically numb, and I have no idea what to do about that.”

_As if you can believe anything that liar says. Why don’t you just face the facts? You failed. You lost. He won, and you don’t have a choice but to do what he wants._

“Logan can’t do anything about it, considering emotions aren’t his department—the exact opposite, obviously, I mean, he’s _Logic_ —and Roman can’t, because as far as I know, Roman can’t feel much right now, either. Probably means he’s not doing well with his creating and all, too, but it’s not like I’ve seen him long enough to ask about that.”

_You’re making a fool out of yourself. What do you think this is going to do? What is it going to prove?_

He messes with a stray string on his hoodie. “Deceit’s certainly not helping any. He’s actually—you know, he’s been pushing everyone away. Telling Thomas to hide what’s happening. He says he has good intentions, but Thomas needs his friends, and—and I dunno, maybe they’d be able to help more than we could. But no, Deceit always knows better than me—always has more of a say than I do.”

_And that’s how it’s going to remain from now on if you continue to just sit around and do nothing about it._

He snorts, lowering his voice as he imitates the other Side’s voice, words coming out in a hiss, “‘The past is the past, Virgil—why don’t you just let go and do your job, Virgil? Thomas needs you, _Virgil_ , just stop crying and handle his anxiety, Virgil. It’d be better if you were _happy_ , Virgil, why don’t you just **_hurry up and get happy, Virgil?_** ’”

_Why can’t you just let the dead rest, Virgil? Why can’t you just leave him alone?_

Virgil bites his lip, feeling it tremble. _No. No crying. Not right now._

He knocks on the door again.

“…Anyway, the point is, Thomas is completely fucked up and none of us can get to his feelings, which means it would be really, really nice if you could give me a sign so I knew how to help him.”

A ringing in his ears. He glances down the hall, hesitating, as though by some miracle something would change.

But of course, nothing happens, and he turns his glare up to the ceiling, swallowing passed the lump in his throat.

“…I can’t keep doing this, y’know.”

_You’re going to have to. Thomas needs you._

“I’m tired of keeping things together. I’m tired of playing this game.”

_But you have to keep trying. You have to protect him._

Virgil stands, throwing a hand up in the air, raising his voice, “I’m tired of being the only person here who can admit that they’re miserable and that they miss you.”

_I’m tired of being the only one who can admit that you’re dead._

His head throbs. The Side rubs at the side of his face and groans, trying to calm down, but the pain only worsens, the ache in his chest becoming impossible to ignore.

“Without you here, Thomas is a fucking mess. We’re _all_ a mess, and we’re getting to a point where if things don’t get fixed soon, Thomas is going to change for the worse, and I—I can’t watch it. I’m tired of sitting back and watching!”

_You were so much better at this than I am. You were needed so much more than me._

_Why are you gone and I’m not?_

“I need a sign, Pops. I need you—Thomas needs you.”

He paces in front of the door, his shoulders shaking. Tears fill his eyes.

“Nothing makes sense without you here. I don’t even know if I want it to make sense—how the hell did things get like this? What am I supposed to _do_?”

_How can I keep living without you here?_

Virgil pauses, swaying, reaching up to rub at his face. A thought crosses his mind, and he considers it, thinks it over, weighs the pros and cons—and then he nods to himself, his expression hardening. He’s aware his eyeshadow is running and his eyes are puffy, but he opts to ignore it, pulling his hood over his eyes and sighing.

He takes a step back.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter—I mean, hey, nobody else is worried, so why should I be, right?”

Another step back.

“If they don’t want to care—if they don’t want to _listen_ —then maybe I shouldn’t bother making them. Maybe I shouldn’t bother _at all_.”

Another step back. Blue light sparks from his fingertips, but he doesn’t notice it.

“I’ve left before—they listened then. They—they’d come looking if I left again—”

_If they even notice this time, anyway._

“—and even if they don’t, at least I’d get to see you again. At least I won’t be _alone_.”

The tears start rolling down his face, and he bites his tongue, wiping them away with his sleeves.

“…I’ll make them see, Pat. I—I promise, I’ll fix this.”

_Whatever it takes._

Then, casting a final glance over his shoulder at the two closed doors down the hall, Virgil makes up his mind.

He turns on his heel and heads deeper into Thomas’ mind, looking for the Imagination.

 _One last rodeo_ , he thinks. _One last time, and after that, I’ll make them admit that something’s wrong—whether it kills me or not._

Little does he know, after he turns around the corner, the two doors from down the hall swing open, Logan and Roman peering out when they hear someone leaving.

“You heard that, too, right? That wasn’t just me?” Roman asks.

“If you are referring to someone talking to themselves, then yes, I most certainly did hear that,” Logan deadpans. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “It sounded like Virgil.”

“Well, no, shit, Microsoft Nerd. It’s certainly not going to be Snake Eyes.”

They step out into the hall, looking anywhere but Patton’s door.

Roman puts his hands on his hips, trying to look tall even though he and Logan are the same height, “Do you think he’s done being all moody?”

Logan’s jaw tenses, “He is always ‘moody’ in your eyes, Roman. And I don’t see why that would matter.”

“Well, considering the last time we heard from him he told off Thomas for being a ‘bad’ person, I’m not entirely on-board with running into him when he’s angry.”

Logan furrows his eyebrows. “…Perhaps—perhaps we should go looking for him. Keep him out of trouble.”

Roman scoffs. “He’s been doing fine on his own so far. Don’t see why he’d need us now.”

“Roman, you cannot sit there and tell me you aren’t worried about him.”

“…Alright, fine, whatever. It’s not like I’ve been busy, anyway.”

Logan shoots him a confused look but doesn’t question him, nodding. “Where do you think he would go?”

Roman just shrugs. “Beats me. He tends to sulk anywhere and everywhere—the entire mind palace is fair game.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“Can you please be a normal person for two seconds? Please?”

“We’re not people.”

“ _Logan_.”

The logical Side rolls his eyes and sighs, grabbing onto Roman’s wrist. He pulls him forward, “Come on. Let’s start searching.”

Roman opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Logan pulling him down the hall, the creative Side letting out a groan but following behind anyway.

_This is going to be a long day._


	3. No Reason / Invisible, Reprise

“…Listen, girl, if you want people to listen to you, you’re gonna have to drop the ‘tough-guy’ act.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, staring into the crystal-clear pond in front of him. He’s been in the Imagination for a few hours now; slipped in undetected by Roman who’s doing God-knows-what, exploring the forests and towns and castles to his heart’s content until he inevitably ended up here, trying to clear his head and shake himself out of his funk.

Which he _thought_ would be easier talking to Sleep, given the fact that the other was known for his advice-giving and wisdom, but with this conversation having only started five minutes ago and a headache already pounding at his temple, Virgil remembers exactly why he barely talks to this particular figment of Thomas’ Imagination unless he has no other option.

Namely because Remy is sickeningly optimistic.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Virgil drawls out, kicking his legs idly over the edge of the pond. The hair on his arms stands on end, and he tries to ignore how familiar this feels, how it reminds him of a place in Thomas’ mind he’d rather not think about right now.

 _Not yet. Talk to Remy first—_ that _will come after._

Remy snickers next to him, elbowing him, “Oh, please, anyone from a mile away could see the walls you’ve got built up. You gotta destroy ’em! Let ’em down, let people in—that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, not happening.”

“I’m just saying, it might help.”

“I’d rather vomit, thanks.”

Remy pouts. He sips on his coffee, glancing up at the sky. A bright, dazzling grin crosses his face as he says, “Oh! I know! We could always practice!”

Virgil wrinkles his nose, “Nope.”

“Aw, come on, sour-puss! Who knows, you might feel better.” Remy stands, waving a hand in the air.

Virgil narrows his eyes, “What are you d—”

“Shh, girl, let me work my magic.” A wink. Then, with another wave of his hand, a shivering, crimson holographic figure appears next to him, Remy’s eyes shining behind his sunglasses as he makes a dramatic gesture in its direction. “Ta-da!”

Virgil glares. “I said _no_ , y’know.”

“Hey, you came to me for help—if you wanted someone to just listen to you bitch and groan and do nothing about it, you woulda gone to someone else.” Remy reaches forward, taking Virgil’s hand and pulling him up to his feet. “At least give it a try.”

“Remy, I really don’t see how this c—” Virgil sputters to a stop when the figment gives him puppy-dog eyes. He lets out a groan, “Ugh— _fine_. Whatever.”

A squeal. Remy pushes him forward, taking a step back and watching from the sidelines.

Virgil rolls his eyes. Sizes up the hologram. “…Hi.”

A glance in Remy’s direction, who gives him a thumbs up.

“…I got nothin’.”

Remy groans. The figment throws his arms up in the air, the hologram flickering but not disappearing entirely. “Come _on_ , raincloud! You gotta open up eventually—maybe lighten up a little, too. Being all doom and gloom can’t be healthy, I mean, girl—you’re _going_ to get wrinkles.”

Virgil’s eye twitches, “I am not a human person.”

“We are literally all part of a ‘human person.’”

“Still not real.”

Remy sighs. Turning to the hologram, an exasperated wave thrown in Virgil’s direction, he asks, “Can you believe this?”

The hologram buzzes, static crackling along its form. A robotic voice answers, “ _Major buzzkill_.”

Virgil can feel heat rising up his neck. He crosses his arms, “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get more annoying, and yet, you continue to surprise me.”

Remy blows him a kiss before dismissing the hologram, looking around at the Imagination. He grins. “Hey, at least I know how to live a little. I mean, look around—what’s not to like?”

Virgil follows his gaze. His voice comes out monotone, the Side gesturing around them with a wide sweep of his arms, “The fact that none of it is real and is meaningless in the grand scheme of things.”

“You wanna try that again, but with a little bit of emotion?”

“Then why don’t _you_ try being all sunshine and rainbows?” Virgil asks suddenly, glare harsh enough that it makes the figment flinch. Guilt twists in Virgil’s stomach, but he doesn’t apologize, opting instead to start walking back to the Imagination’s exit. “’Cause I’m not gonna lie, all this is doing is making me want to crawl into a hole and never leave it. That doesn’t really leave a whole lot of room for positivity.”

Remy claps his hands together, “Honesty! We’re making progress!”

“I don’t know how to tell you this but wanting to crawl into a hole isn’t exactly a healthy thing.”

“No, but you admitted that, which means we’re getting somewhere.” Remy hums, keeping close behind Virgil as they walk. Virgil can practically feel him smiling. “Well, the scenery’s to die for.”

“The scenery’s fake because we’re in the Imagination,” Virgil shoots back.

Remy shrugs. “Could be worse, though. At least there’s not a forest fire or any other natural disaster going on.”

“Plenty of those are happening in the real world as we speak.”

“Okay,” Remy rolls his eyes, looking away and taking a sip of his coffee before continuing, “there’s plenty to do. Lots of fun to be had.”

“There’s also plenty of ways to die by doing said things.”

“Well, there’s plenty of safe, fun things you can try. With friends, even.”

Virgil grimaces, “Yeah, and those friends can also judge and hate you for doing something stupid, or drop you at the drop of a hat and never tell you why, so you’ll be left all alone because of whatever reason and unable to bring yourself to do things you used to enjoy because it reminds you too much of people you can no longer talk to.”

A pause. At Remy’s silence, Virgil turns, finding the other staring at him with a pleased smile on his face.

Virgil realizes his mistake and groans. He throws his hood up, turning away, “Just, you know, hypothetically.”

“Sure, hon, whatever you say.” Remy winks at him. He puts his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky. “If it helps at all, even though there’s plenty we can’t control, there’s also a lot we can control.”

Virgil glares.

“No, seriously! There is! Like…how we choose to perceive the world—”

“You mean how people choose to ignore certain aspects of life to make themselves feel better,” the Side deadpans.

“—what we want to do on a certain day, or the week, or our whole lives—”

“Which is full of surprises and can change at a moment’s notice.”

“Damn, girl, you’ve got attitude! Like it. But even so, we can still choose how we deal with those changes and what we do with them.” His grin widens as Virgil’s resolve noticeably shrinks. “How we act and treat others is definitely something we have control over.”

“Yeah, except for when you have to limit yourself for other people, or outright lie about how you feel so that those you care about don’t leave you all alone.” Virgil messes with his sleeves, his pace quickening as he walks. His glare hardens as he looks at Remy, “Just because you can say or do something doesn’t mean you want to be doing it—and you can never change how people perceive you, because that’s _their_ choice, not yours.”

“And if those perceptions are positive?”

Virgil blinks. “What?”

“And if there are people who see you as the wonderful little raincloud you are?”

Virgil doesn’t say anything.

“See! Not everything outside of your control has to be all negative, too,” Remy giggles, passing by Virgil to walk in front of him. He turns to face Virgil, walking backwards as he sips at his coffee, saying, “The universe is random and sure, things aren’t all great, but it all happens for a reason—you should enjoy it while you still got it!”

Virgil scoffs. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leans forward, sneering at the figment as his expression darkens, his eyes flashing purple, “I hate to break it to you, _Sleep_ , but there’s no rhyme or reason to life. Terrible things happen to good people for no reason—”

“I—”

“— _for no reason_ ,” Virgil snaps, “and those good people die and everyone else moves on like as if they didn’t exist in the first place.” He jabs a finger at Remy’s chest, raising his voice, “You might’ve fooled yourself, but I haven’t, and the truth is that nothing matters, nobody really gives a shit, and we all die—and yeah, I’m including us in that, because the moment Thomas dies, so do we—and no amount of positivity and optimism can change that.”

Remy stares, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t speak.

But Virgil does. He does, and as he does, his eyes fill with tears, the Side’s voice breaking as he goes on, “No amount of happy thoughts and fuzzy feelings are going to change the fact that the dead are gone and we’re not far behind.”

Silence falls over them. Not even the forest around them seems to make a sound, Virgil rubbing at his face and Remy staring, coffee still held in his hands.

Then, grinning, the figment says, “Do you feel better?”

Virgil looks at him through his fingers, “Huh?”

“That seemed like a lot of nastiness you just got off your chest. Did talking help?”

Virgil hesitates. He sniffles, wiping at the drying tears on his face, shaking his head and sighing. “I—I don’t know,” he mumbles, not looking up to meet Remy’s eyes. “I don’t know how I’m feeling right now.”

Remy shrugs. He snaps his fingers, the coffee in his hands magically refilling, the figment shaking it absently to hear the ice inside move around. “Not knowing’s fine, too, babes. Just, y’know, there’s no shame in talking about it. And if you ever need someone to lean on, this bitch is here to remind you what’s what. Alright?”

An invisible knife twists in Virgil’s chest. His throat closes, and though he wants to thank Remy, he can’t form the words, can’t so much as make a noise. All he can manage is a nod.

They come to a stop in front of the door leading to the rest of Thomas’ mind. Remy pats his arm, nudging him forward and through the door.

“See ya around, raincloud. And if it helps, keep in mind that there’s rainbows after a storm.”

Virgil gives him another nod, the pain in his chest worsening.

 _But how long am I supposed to wait to get better? I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of_ pretending _._

_I just want it to end._

He keeps that to himself, of course. He doubts Remy would want to hear that, anyway.

The door to the Imagination closes, and if Virgil falls to his knees and breaks down, it isn’t like anyone’s around to see.

(And, if he runs to the one place no inhabitant of Thomas’ mind wants to be, then that’s his business and his business alone.)

Remus wanders the halls of Thomas’ mind, the usual bounce to his step gone without a trace. His head swims; thoughts both welcome and forbidden shaking him to his core, powerful enough that if he stopped moving for even a moment, they’d consume him, would eat him from the inside-out and leave nothing but bone in his place. Some he’s used to: the usual thoughts Thomas ignores, the thoughts that his host would rather not want to have, the ones that spell out violence and consequences in big flashy letters and make Remus jittery and impulsive.

The ones about erasing himself, though? _Those_ are new.

And he does not appreciate them in the slightest.

He knows, at least to some extent, that some of these thoughts are from the conversation he had with Roman and Logan, all those weeks ago. After all, nothing else out of the ordinary has happened—he’s just gone about his business as he always has, wreaking havoc wherever he can. The only thing he can think of that would have triggered these thoughts would be that conversation, that meeting with the beloved Creativity and Logic that planted nasty little ideas in his head that he knows will only lead to more pain than he can tolerate.

But he can’t get the thought out of his head, no matter how much he creates, no matter how much he destroys, no matter how much he screams and laughs and cries. The thought remains, and deep down he wonders if it’s always been there, only brought to the surface when he was reminded how hopeless his situation is.

_You’re not wanted here._

_Not helping, only hurting._

_Everyone’s scared of you._

_It would be better if you just disappeared._

_What good are you if you’re invisible, anyway?_

Remus smacks himself upside the head, shaking it hard enough to make himself dizzy. His lip bleeds from how much he’s chewed at it.

Really, he could laugh about this; laugh at just how ironic it is that the embodiment of intrusive thoughts suffers from them just as much as his host does.

But he’s tired of laughing about it. He’s tired of crying about it.

He’s tired of _thinking_ about it.

So really, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised when he found himself standing at the edge of the Subconscious, the one place in Thomas’ mind that no sentient being wants to be, the only place where certain death for the imaginary is possible.

And yet, here he is, surprised and intrigued, looking down into the abyss and chattering along like as though words are equivalent to oxygen supply.

“Seems like a long way down. Gee, Tomathy, I didn’t realize how deep your brain went. The hell did you do, shoot yourself with a nail gun?”

He squints, walking toe-to-toe along the edge, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick stray blood from his lips.

“That’d be quite the image, wouldn’t it? Nail sticking out of your eye—ha! Wonder what people would say to that. Probably a bunch of boring assholes being all ‘oh no, I’m so worried, are you okay so I can feel better about leaving you alone?’ even though I’m sure some of them would want to ask ‘say, Thomas, how’s it feel? Can you move it around? If you pulled it out, would there be brain matter sticking to it?’”

Left, right, left, right. One foot in front of the other. Jeez, and he thought the thoughts were bad _before_ ; the urge to send himself tumbling into the darkness washes over him again, stronger than ever before, so intense that he actually wobbles back with a laugh.

“Nope!” he chuckles, shoving his sleeve up and scratching at his arm until it bleeds, the dull ache enough to ground him if only for a moment. “Not yet—I’m not going down yet, no way, compadre.”

He hesitates. His face clouds over in wonder.

“…Wonder what it would feel like.”

Because really, nobody knows what happens to the things the Subconscious consumes. There’s nobody to ask, nowhere to turn to for research. Nothing ever comes back—or, if it does, it’s changed forever, never the same again and always, always scarred in such a way it’s barely recognizable. Not to mention that, to his knowledge, the Subconscious has yet to consume anything like a facet of Thomas’ personality. 

So, Remus wonders, wandering along the edge, testing fate with each step, his arms outstretched at his sides and eyes drawn to the darkness, trying to understand something he knows is impossible to understand.

“How fast would death be? Is it like being eaten—ooh, _that’d_ be something, huh? Wonder if it likes eating bits and pieces first before going for the main course. Or maybe it’s all at once. Would you even feel it?”

Left, right, left, right. Breathe in, breathe out. Steady—keep moving.

“There’s a lot of painful ways to go. A lot of different ways to die—hey, Subby, you got any preferences for how you murder people?” he snorts. Bites his lip. “…Wonder if it’d hurt. What kind of hurt that’d be—death sounds fun in theory, but I can’t think of many ways that wouldn’t hurt. Not that I’m vanilla or anything, but—” a lump in his throat, “—I’unno, fooling around in the Imagination sounds a lot different than taking a nosedive into the unknown.”

The unknown that’s known for destroying everything in its path.

Remus hums, walking faster. His voice dies in his throat.

_What counts as really being dead? Is it just when the heart stops beating? When the body stops breathing? When the brain shuts off and it’s lights out forever?_

_How long would it take to stop thinking altogether? What am I if there’s no thought? What am I if Thomas can’t think?_

_Where would Thomas be without me?_

_Do I even matter?_

_Would anyone notice?_

_Does he even need me?_

_Why am I here if I’m apparently so bad for him?_

He’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of crying.

Remus’ heart stutters in his chest, his usual, twisted smile spreading over his face. _Oh! Someone to scare—maybe that’ll help._

He runs toward the sound, admittedly having no idea what to expect, no clue who exactly could be in a place like this, idea after horrific idea popping up in his mind as he approaches.

And then he finds the source of the sound and stops, and for the first time in his life, finds his mind to be blank.

It’s another Side, that much is clear. Granted, he’s never seen this Side before, and after a moment’s pause decides he’s never even heard of a Side that looks like this, dark eyeshadow under his eyes and a patchy dark hoodie thrown over his thin frame, smaller in size but still radiating that familiar aura that tells Remus he stands in the presence of another strong Side, stronger than him even, someone who more often than not influences Thomas into doing whatever he wants. He sits with his legs dangling over the edge of the Subconscious, scribbling away on a paper that Remus can’t read.

Remus hovers closer, a gentle pull in his chest nudging him forward, the green Side stopping right behind the other and peering over his shoulder, smile falling away as he realizes what the other is writing.

“To Thomas and the others,” he hears the other murmur under his breath, shaky and quiet, voice barely heard over the howling of the void in front of them. “By the time you find this letter, I, Anxiety, also known as Virgil, will be gone.”

Well, there’s a name to the face, anyway. Remus feels his heart twist when he hears the other sob, the Side digging his nails into his arms to distract himself from the sudden wave of emotions hitting him. Jeez, he’s supposed to be scary and repulsive—since when did he suddenly give a shit about anyone here?

The other Side—Virgil, he reminds himself—keeps writing, even as the letters smudge together and tears run down his face.

“There’s nothing left for me here.”

 _That can’t be true_ , Remus thinks, frown deepening on his face. _A pretty face like yours and a job like that, and you’re seriously telling me you don’t have anything to live for?_

_…And I now realize that I am a hypocrite. Nice going, Remus._

“I’m alone,”

_You don’t have to be._

“forsaken,”

 _I wouldn’t mind getting to know a fresh face_.

“invisible. I don’t see the point in staying when nothing I say or do matters.”

Remus scoffs at that, rolling his eyes. He tries to cover up his discomfort with a laugh, “Join the club, emo.”

A pause. Slowly, the other Side turns, glaring over his shoulder.

“…Who the hell are you?”

Remus blinks. Gasps. Takes a step back.

“You—you can see me?”

Virgil studies him, narrowing his eyes, “Yeah…?”

Remus snaps his mouth closed. His thoughts spiral out of control, but he doesn’t bother to make sense of them, too busy trying to get his heart to stop banging against his ribs.

_He can see me. He sees me! I’m heard!_

He grins, and realization hits him as he meets the other’s gaze.

 _He_ needs _me._

Coming here suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all.


	4. Say My Name / Day-O

For a moment, neither of them moves; Remus staring at Virgil with shock and mild awe and Virgil staring at the other Side with enough distrust and annoyance it comes off him in waves.

“I can’t believe this. Someone actually sees me.”

“Uh…you say that like it’s a shock.”

“I feel like someone just tore off my arms and shoved them down my throat.”

Virgil gags, “Dude, what the _hell_?”

“Hey, gross and disturbing is kind of my thing; can’t really help it.”

“Gross, disturbing, and invisible?”

“To most.” Remus hums. Sitting down next to the other Side, he asks, “So, what’re you doing all the way out here? Besides the whole, y’know—jumping into the Subconscious thing.”

Virgil lowers his gaze. He turns back to the void in front of them, crumbling up the paper in his hands and tossing it into the abyss. “I’unno. Avoiding my family, I guess.”

Remus gasps, “Ooh, I bet there’s a juicy story there!”

“Not really. My—” a lump forms in Virgil’s throat, “—my, uh, Pops died a while back. He was in charge of Thomas’ heart so without him, things are kind of a mess. So, Thomas is listening to the wrong people and now I’m, uh…I’unno—”

“Pissed?”

Virgil nods. “Yeah, I guess. I keep trying to warn all of them that things are getting worse, but nobody’ll listen. I got annoyed and came here—figured it’d help.”

“You mean you came here thinking killing yourself would help?” Remus corrects, gesturing to the Subconscious with an eyebrow raised.

Virgil hangs his head.

“Hm.” Remus leans back, looking up at the ceiling, “Sounds like you need a friend.”

“Having Pat back would be preferred,” Virgil mutters under his breath, before he sighs, shaking his head. “’Sides, they’ll get over it. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Remus watches the other Side, his eyebrow raised. He drums his fingers on the floor, thinking to himself, before he grins, leaning close enough that their shoulders bump together. “I could help you,” he purrs out, grin widening when the other shoots him a glare.

“Oh, yeah?” Virgil asks. “How so?”

“Well, we could start with that friend thing.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You could get to know me.” Remus stands, holding out a hand. “Come on, don’t you want a pal?”

Virgil opens his mouth, “I—”

“Of course you do,” a voice says next to his ear, and Virgil jumps, scrambling away and turning to find that Remus had teleported behind him, the other giving him a sly grin. Remus folds his arms behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels, “If you ask me, you could do a way better job than all those other pansy-asses. Seems like a waste to erase yourself when you could, oh, I don’t know—erase them instead?”

“Murder is _not_ an option,” Virgil deadpans.

“Suicide’s murdering _yourself_ , yet you seem fine with that. Besides, if they’re hurting your human friend, it’d make sense to get rid of the problem at the source, right?”

Virgil frowns.

Remus shrugs, “Alright, alright, fine. No murder—got it. But we don’t have to murder them anyway to get what you want, so we can work with that.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” Virgil asks, climbing to his feet. He starts walking along the edge of the Subconscious, Remus close behind.

“Well, you gotta say my name, first.”

A glare.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Remus whines, pouting as he crosses his arms over his chest, “I can do so much if you just let me help, really teach those bed-wetters a thing or two. Conjure a few nightmares, throw in a little bit of persistent thought, and we’re good to go! I mean—look at it this way: people won’t argue with what you have to say if you scare them enough. Leave a big enough impression and _boom_ —you’ll have them feeding out of your hand in no time.”

“I want them to _listen_ ,” Virgil says with a roll of his eyes, “not scarred for life.”

“Well, we can work out the kinks later. Got plenty of those to spare.”

“…I’m going to pretend you didn’t just hit on me.”

Remus winks, “You liked it.”

Virgil blows his bangs from his face. “So, what—you’re going to _make_ them listen? How’s that gonna work? ’Cause I’ve been trying for weeks and haven’t had any luck—don’t see how a random stranger is gonna be more successful than me.”

“Say my name first and you’ll see. You know the drill, I’m sure—three times in a row, no breaks or pauses, all that jazz.”

“I don’t know your name.”

Remus groans, “I can’t _say_ my name, that’s not how it works!”

“Then how do I say it if I don’t know it?”

Ah. He hadn’t thought about that. “Well…do you have any ideas? I’m sure you’ve got plenty in that pretty, smashable head of yours.”

Virgil snorts. He thinks about it, snapping his fingers, “What about charades?”

Remus grins, “Perfect! Okay, it’s two words, so get ready.”

Virgil jumps when Remus suddenly disappears in a cloud of smoke, green mist wrapping around him. He coughs, “Uh—”

“Second word—and don’t breathe me in.”

Virgil steps out of the cloud, yelping, “Warn a guy next time, wouldja?”

“Nah. It’s funnier this way—come on, guess!”

Virgil frowns. Staring at the green mist, rocking back on his heels, he hums, shrugging. “Well, you’re a cloud, so—uh—daydreams?”

“In a way, but no.”

“Spirituality…?”

“No.”

Virgil scratches at his head, sighing. His eyes light up, “Thoughts?”

“Yes, exactly! Good!” Remus returns back to his normal form, grinning from ear to ear, a sparkle in his eyes. He holds up a finger.

“First word.”

“Right!”

_Snap!_

The other side snaps his fingers, and Virgil winces when he finds Remus covered in blood, holding a decapitated head.

“What. The _fuck_.”

“That’s not a guess,” Remus sing-songs, shaking the rotting head in his hands.

Virgil’s hands fly up to his hair, the side tugging at his curls as he bites his lip, trying to calm the racing heart beating against his ribcage. _I have officially gotten myself into a shitty situation._ “Fucked up. Definitely fucked up.”

“I said it was two words, not three or four—though I’m sure anyone would agree with you.”

“Okay…” Virgil fidgets. “Something that follows up with thoughts…uh—bad?”

“Again, probably would have people who agree with you, but no.”

“Disturbing?”

“Close, but no.”

Virgil throws his arms up in the air. “I dunno—intrusive?”

“Yes!” _Snap_ —Remus dismisses the image, back to his usual self. He leans against Virgil’s shoulder, the smaller Side shrinking further into his hoodie. “Nice job, Virgie! I’m impressed.”

“So, what, I just say your purpose and you get Thomas to listen to me? Is that all?”

“He’d have no choice,” Remus says, nodding. He lowers his voice, grinning when Virgil’s face reddens, “I’m the kind of thoughts he can’t ignore; the more he tries, the louder I get. Together, we’d make a great team!”

Virgil hums, “Makes sense…”

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright—go.”

Virgil exhales. Combs his fingers through his hair to get his bangs out of his face. Leans forward, a smile on his lips, “Intrusive Thoughts.”

Remus’ eyes flash green, “Yes…?”

Virgil grabs the collar of Remus’ jacket, “Intrusive Thoughts.”

“Yes?”

“In—”

_Here we go—_

“—sane how you think I’d actually do that, are you _crazy_?”

Remus can do nothing but stare, “What?” 

Virgil laughs, getting louder when Remus startles, the smaller Side pushing him away and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look, I’ll think about it, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m worried enough that Thomas is listening to a snake—why would I team up with someone who literally was holding a decomposing head not even two minutes ago?”

“To be fair, that was imaginary—”

“—Not to mention I like my odds in the Subconscious more than I do here.”

Remus panics, grabbing Virgil’s wrist to keep him from the edge, “Alright, we’ve established that murder’s off the table, point taken. But I can do a lot more than just those kinds of thoughts!”

Virgil hums, “Oh?”

“Yeah! Of course.”

“Well, okay. Intrusive Thoughts—”

The green glow returns to Remus’ eyes.

“Intrusive Thoughts—”

The glow grows brighter.

“—Anyone else might’ve bought it, but I don’t.”

Remus groans, “Oh, come _on_ —”

“Hey, I’m miserable and everything sucks, sure, but not enough to just take any random Side’s deal.”

“It’s Remus.”

“Whatever.” Virgil shrugs, stepping around Remus and teetering dangerously close to the edge of the Subconscious, stopped only by Remus’ hand around his wrist. “Though, I’m flattered, really. Not to mention you are quite the flirt—weird and disturbing, but still. Hm…okay, fine. Intrusive Thoughts, Intrusive Thoughts—”

Remus’ smile turns desperate, gesturing from the other to continue.

“—And why should I trust you? I’ve known the others for decades, and I don’t trust _them_. What makes _you_ so different?”

Remus groans, throwing his free hand up in the air, “I’m offering what you want on a silver platter!”

Virgil snickers, “And you always make good on your promises?”

“Of course! I can’t lie; unfiltered thoughts, baby, all the way. You can trust me!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. He glances over his shoulder, leaning towards the abyss, “I think I’d rather just go—”

Remus pulls him back, “ _No_!”

“I’m _suicidal_ , Remus,” Virgil snaps, eyes flashing purple, “not an idiot.”

Remus smacks his lips together and sighs, shaking his head. A playful smile crosses over his face, “You’re right. You’re not an idiot—that’s more I can say for the others, so I’ll give you that. Good to know I found someone with a brain in this place.”

“Well, I _am_ Thomas’ fears and worries. If I wasn’t alert on the daily, he’d probably be dead.” Virgil leans forward on his toes, smile widening, “Ya got any references?”

“ _Virgil_!”

The two flinch, Virgil pulling himself free from Remus’ hold and a sickening grin taking hold of Remus’ face.

Roman and Logan run up, concern evident on both of their faces—and by the fact that Roman’s sword is drawn.

“There you are, Vi—”

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you—where have you _been_? What are you doing here?”

Remus claps his hands together, “Well, if it ain’t Dull Creativity and No-Fun Logic! Woo, boy, it’s been a while—how are my old friends doing, hm?”

Roman jumps in between Virgil and Remus, his sword aiming for the green Side’s chest. “Back off, Remus,” he grounds out, his teeth gritted.

Logan pulls Virgil away, looking him over. “Are you alright?” he asks. “We heard you talking earlier—why didn’t you come to one of us? The last thing we need is for you to do something reckless!”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, gaze wandering to Remus, an eyebrow raising as he sees the other’s excitement grow. “And, uh, didn’t want to bother you, I guess.” Then, he juts a thumb in Remus’ direction, “You know this guy?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Not that it matters,” Roman shouts, narrowing his eyes. He looks over at Virgil and Logan, says, “We’re leaving. We can’t stay around him; he’s dangerous.”

_Snap!_

Virgil startles at the sound of Remus snapping his fingers, blinking and looking around in confusion, expecting something to appear. Instead, he watches as Roman and Logan grow tense, the red-clad Side dropping his sword and Logan letting go of Virgil’s arm.

Their eyes turn green.

Virgil takes a step back, his eyes widening, “What—”

Logan perks up beside him, grin identical to the one on Remus’ face, and to Virgil’s surprise, actually sings, “Intrusive Thoughts is sexy—”

Roman sneaks up on his other side, “Intrusive Thoughts is smart!”

“IT’s a fun guy and a work of art!”

Virgil flinches when they both hug him, physically relaxing when they let go of him—only to tense once more when they walk over to Remus, who looks incredibly smug.

“He can help—”

“Not to mention, he’s pretty swell!”

Remus actually has the gall to act flattered at that, fanning himself and wrapping an arm around each Side, Virgil gawking when neither of them even attempt to pull away.

A startled look on Logan’s face, “Anyone’d be lucky if they had a friend just like him!”

Tension in Roman’s jaw, “Open up your mind and stop being a prude!”

In unison, “So, what’re you going to choose?”

_Snap!_

Logan and Roman both gasp, collapsing onto the floor and panting as the green glow of their eyes fades. Neither of them moves, mouths hanging open in shock.

Virgil blinks, fingers pulling at the edge of his sleeves, “Wow.”

Remus steps away from them, slinking his arm around Virgil’s shoulder and giving him a squeeze, “There’s those references you wanted! So, how about it? We workin’ together or not?”

Virgil whips around to glare at him, “What was that?”

To his surprise, Remus just laughs. “Possession, duh!” he grins, wiggling his fingers in Virgil’s face. “It’s not hard once you know what you’re doing. Even those two fools could probably do it if they tried.”

“Oh?” Virgil narrows his eyes, “Is that right?”

“I mean, yeah, sure. Probably.”

Virgil considers this. Hums. “Well, in that case,” he says, grinning, “I guess I don’t need you after all.”

Remus tenses. “Whoa, hey, wait a minute—”

“I mean, if any Side can do it—” Virgil shrugs, stepping forward and grinning wider when Remus takes a step back, “—then I can just do it myself. No need to bother with one of your ‘promises.’”

Remus turns him until they’re face to face, that desperate look back on his face as he says in a wavering voice, “Hey, hey, okay, I get it, pal. I went a little overboard, but—we’re still friends, right? We can do this, right, Virgie? No need to go in it all alone!”

Virgil corners him at the room’s exit, crossing his arms and glaring.

Remus shrinks, smile faltering, “Come on—please?”

“Mm—no.”

He shoves Remus out of the room, the other letting out a scream but unable to catch himself before he falls, Virgil watching him fall through the floor and disappear out of sight.

Roman and Logan come up behind him, each of them fixing him with an incredulous look.

“ _Virgil_.”

The anxious side just shrugs. “He’ll live. ’Sides, we don’t need him—I got a plan that’ll get Thomas away from Deceit and listening to us.”

Roman recollects his sword, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his lips. “You want to share that plan, or are we going to have to become mind readers?”

“Well…do you think you can get Thomas’ friends to come over tonight?”

Logan and Roman exchange a glance, “Yeah? Why?”

Virgil’s grin turns sharp. “I think it’s time they had a taste of us.”

A pause. Then, Logan narrows his eyes. “You can’t possibly be implying what I think you are.”

“Depends—Roman, you think you can write a script before dinner?”

Roman’s face brightens, “Yeah, of course, but—”

“Logan, you think you can reign him in?”

“Hey—”

“Yes,” Logan sighs, “But possessing Thomas is—I don’t know if it’s safe—”

“We only gotta do it long enough to freak Deceit out and get people to realize that Thomas isn’t doing so hot.” Virgil bounces, grabbing both of their hands and pulling them out of the Subconscious’ room. “And if you guys don’t want to, I’ll just do it myself. He’s been in need for a good ol’ dose of fear for a while now, anyway.”

Roman and Logan share wary expressions. “…Alright. We’ll help.”

Virgil’s grin widens, excitement clear on his face. He coaxes them forward, “It’s settled, then. Come on—we’ve got a dinner to set up.”

They start making their way to the front of Thomas’ mind, hand in hand, Roman and Logan taking note of the way Virgil’s shoulders shake.

 _I’ll make them listen_ , he thinks to himself, smile falling away.

_I have to protect Thomas._

_No matter what._

Something is wrong with Thomas.

Well, not wrong, but certainly _off_. He notices it long before his guests arrive, growing stronger the more time passes, his head fuzzy and his body feeling light and airy, the sensations almost enough to make him call the dinner off and take a trip to the hospital. But, when Deceit tells him everything is fine, Thomas believes it, so he ignores it even as the lights dance around him and his ears ring, because surely Deceit would tell him if something was wrong, right? His Self-Preservation wouldn’t just let him die.

But the feeling persists, and even though Deceit tells him he’s fine, Thomas has a hard time believing him. After all, it’s hard to trust a known liar.

And as the evening goes on, the more his friends start to notice.

“Thomas?”

Thomas snaps out of his daze, blinking his vision clear. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the wall, turning to find his friend, Joan, staring at him.

“Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it,” they say.

“Yeah,” his other friend—Talyn—says from the couch, leaning closer when they notice Thomas’ twisted frown. “I know it’s been a while, but if you’re not feeling well, we could always come over another time.”

Thomas clears his throat, “I, uh—”

Deceit leans against his shoulder, _Keep it under wraps._

“—yeah, I’m—I’m fine, it’s just—I’ve been thinking a lot, is all.”

Joan and Talyn look at each other, doubt evident on their faces.

“About what?” Joan asks.

Ah. Not the best save.

Thomas can’t meet their eyes, “Eh, I don’t know, it’s—it’s just so—” his eyes flash red, “— _day-o_!” His hand clamps over his mouth, Thomas’ eyes blowing wide.

Deceit hisses in his ear, “What was _that_?”

Virgil watches from his spot on the staircase, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “What’s the matter, Thomas?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Are you feeling alright?”

Deceit glares at him, an accusatory glare shot in his direction.

Joan and Talyn hesitate, though a glint of amusement dances in their eyes, and Thomas isn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed.

“It’s alright, take your time,” Talyn tells him.

Thomas lets out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I—I have no idea where that came from, I was just—” another flash of red, “—me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day-o!”

Deceit stares at him in disbelief.

Joan and Talyn seem to be just as baffled.

“…You sure you don’t need to lie down?” Joan asks him, giving him a pat on the back.

“No, no,” Thomas shakes his head furiously, staggering to his feet, “I just need to—daylight come and me wan’ go home—” Thomas slaps his hand over his mouth again, shaking his head. “…What is _happening_?”

Deceit glares in Virgil’s direction again, eyes narrowed, but the side just shrugs, giving his best _I-don’t-know-what’s-going-on-either_ look. He grabs onto Thomas’ arm, eyes glinting yellow, “What I meant to say was—”

A flash of red.

“— _work all night on a drink of rum!_ ”

Oh, if Virgil wasn’t grinning before, he certainly is now from the look of pure horror and embarrassment on Deceit’s face.

For a moment, concern flashes over his friends’ faces, clearly unsure how to handle the situation, especially with Thomas’ growing panic.

And then, to everyone’s surprise, they _join in_ , and Virgil wonders if it’s the light or his paranoid imagination that notices the red flicker in their eyes, “Daylight come and me wan’ go home.”

Thomas’ eyes flash red again, and he grins, bouncing when Talyn and Joan get up from the couch and join him in the middle of the living room.

“ _Stack banana ‘till the morning come!_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home._

_Day, me say day-o!_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_ ”

Deceit watches from the sidelines, ejected from the front of the mind palace by some unseen force, watching the scene with wide eyes and a hand pressed to his chest. He turns to Virgil, mouthing, “What the actual fuck is going on?”

Virgil shrugs, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his grin.

Thomas and his friends start to dance, their previous panic forgotten as Roman—and, Virgil assumes, the others’ Creativities—take full control.

“ _Come, mister tally man, tally me banana;_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_

_Come, mister tally man, tally me banana;_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_ ”

Virgil looks away from the scene when he feels a hand wrap around his wrist, turning to find Deceit standing next to him, face red and eyes burning with enough rage it’s almost enough to make Virgil flinch. Almost.

“Do something,” Deceit snaps, pointing to the dancing friends. “Do something about this, _now_.”

Virgil shakes him off, “Who’s to say I haven’t tried?”

“That alone tells me you haven’t—” a look of confusion crosses Deceit’s face. “Wait. Why aren’t you bothered by this? Situations like this usually make you _more_ anxious, not less.”

Virgil just shrugs. “He’s having fun,” he answers simply. Then, smirking, he leans forward, whispering for only Deceit to hear, “Besides, it was only a matter of time before your influence made him snap. All that pressure and no fun, I mean—are you really surprised?”

Deceit bristles but lets him go, opting instead to throw his arms up in the air and walk away.

“ _A beautiful bunch of ripe banana;_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_

_Hide the deadly black tarantula;_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_ ”

Virgil weaves between the three of them, humming along to the song, catching sight of Roman and Logan from the corner of his eye. He waves, giving them a quick thumbs up before snapping his fingers. Even if Thomas’ friends can’t see it, the lights change from gold to purple, flashing in time to their singing.

“ _Lift six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch!_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_

_Six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch!_

_Daylight come and me wan’ go home!_ ”

Deceit returns to Thomas’ side, taking hold of his shoulder, “Thomas, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s going on—”

Thomas—the version of him in the mind palace—turns to him, grinning from ear to ear. He chuckles, “What? Why are you apologizing? This is great!”

“…What?”

Virgil’s smile falters, “Yeah, what?”

Thomas shrugs, receding slightly into the mindscape. He gestures around them, “It’s been forever since I’ve had this much fun! I mean, look—” he points to the world outside, at the laughing faces of his friends, and his grin widens. “—they’re having a blast! And yeah, sure, it’s kinda weird I don’t have much input, but who cares, y’know? Not like anything bad’s happening.”

Virgil balks, “Thomas, you have no control over yourself. How does that _not_ bother you?”

Another shrug. “It just—it just _doesn’t_.” He snorts, spinning Deceit around, who just sputters in response. “Come on, what’s the big deal, Dee? Dance! You can relax every once in a while, you know.”

Deceit’s face turns red, the Side just shaking his head in shock.

Virgil’s hands fly up to his hair, “No, no, no—you’re—you’re not supposed to like this, you’re supposed to be _scared_! They’re supposed to be scared _for_ you—”

_Fwoom!_

Virgil jumps when he feels Roman and Logan appear, whipping around to meet them.

“Did it work?” Logan asks conversationally, hands folded in front of him. “Did he listen?”

Virgil waves helplessly in Thomas’ direction, the Sides seeing just how unbothered he is by the situation.

“Oh,” Roman breathes out, his face falling.

Logan looks equally put-off, “So, that would be a no.”

Deceit hisses at them, “This is your doing? Both of you—all three of you did this?”

“We _had_ to,” Virgil snaps back. Another wave in Thomas’ direction, “we’re trying to get him to see that he’s not doing okay—tried to get his friends to point it out—but clearly, we have bigger issues now, considering he doesn’t even want control over his own body.”

Deceit pales, “A problem I failed to recognize.”

Virgil shakes his head. Running his fingers through his hair, he pauses, his eyes widening. He stills. “There’s still one thing we haven’t tried yet.”

Logan tenses. “Virgil, that isn’t necessary—”

“You don’t know what will happen,” Roman agrees.

Tears blur his vision, “ ** _I’m not going to let Thomas ruin his life!_** ”

Then, taking in a breath, specs of blue and purple sparking off his fingertips, his gaze hardens as he looks to Thomas.

“Intrusive Thoughts.”

The ceiling above them flashes green. The air grows thicker, heavier, almost suffocating.

Deceit’s eyes widen, the Side reaching for him, “Virgil, no, _don’t_ —”

Virgil shrugs him off.

_I have to make him understand. I have to help him._

_This is the_ only _way to help Thomas._

“Intrusive Thoughts.”

Hands grab him, try to cover his mouth, but he pulls away, stalking over to where Thomas stands. A familiar voice giggles in his ears, and even though the other Side had disturbed him before, Virgil’s surprised to find himself unperturbed.

_Just one more. You just have to say it one more time, and this’ll all be over._

He takes in a breath and screams—

“ _Intrusive Thoughts!_ ”

—and Remus appears in front of Thomas, arms looped around the human’s neck, watching as the human startles but doesn’t have enough time to get away.

Thomas’ eyes flash green, the human coming to a stop in the middle of his living room with a laugh so unhinged that makes his hair stand on end.

He grins at Talyn and Joan, who’s own Sides come to a stop, sensing the sudden change. They tense when they see the color of his eyes, paling.

“You might want to leave.”

And as Remus all but chases Thomas’ friends out of the house, Virgil finds himself standing alone, the other Sides disappearing from sight with a simple wave of Remus’ hand. The lights in the house flick off, silence falling over them, and Virgil’s ears ring as he realizes Remus’ arm is around him, the other still firmly around Thomas’ shoulders, who suddenly looks very, very tired.

“Nice work, Virgie! I knew you’d come around eventually!” Remus quips, poking at the smaller Side’s cheek. “Looks like the mind palace is ours for the taking!”

The scenery around them changes. The floor underneath their feet turns green, hands reaching up from the ground and reaching for them with boney fingers, the walls turning fleshy and bloody and their window to the outside world becoming framed by a muscly, stringy substance. Chattering fills their ears as monsters slip out from the darkness, giggling and whispering things that Virgil can’t understand.

Virgil sways on his feet, blinking in shock, “Whoa.”

Remus gives him a squeeze. “Looks like we’ve got all the time in the world to be listened to now, huh, bud?”

Thomas pales, looking between them both with confusion and a flicker of betrayal. Realization hits, but he doesn’t move, and whether it’s because Remus’ hold is too strong or he doesn’t care enough to, Virgil isn’t sure.

And it’s not until much later that Virgil realizes the pain in his face is from him smiling.


	5. That Beautiful Sound / Logic 2.0

To say that Thomas’ mind went straight to the gutter after Remus took control would be a gross understatement.

To say that it didn’t get even worse during the nearly four months he and Virgil had control would be a flat out _lie_.

The mind palace had always been messy, but now, it’s nothing short of a disaster. Parts of it are torn up and broken, most filthy and crawling with creatures of Remus’ creation, and what little has been spared isn’t anything either have been willing to touch. Pests overwhelm the place, and shadows touch every corner, reach into every crack and crevice they can find, consuming everything in their path. And that’s not even commenting on Thomas’ actual home; the one that’s been left to chaos and disorder the same day everything fell apart.

Not that Thomas cares. He doesn’t care much about anything at all, from what Virgil can tell.

He hasn’t so much as looked at his work.

He hasn’t spoken to anyone. He hasn’t spoken much _at all_ , if Virgil’s being frank.

In all honesty, he barely leaves his bedroom these days; doing nothing but watching figures move in the corners of his eyes and talking mindlessly to the walls, holding full-on conversations with air.

And yeah, _maybe_ that should have concerned Virgil, considering a situation like this would send him into overdrive any other time. _Maybe_ he should have said something, _done_ something, to make things better. Maybe he should have put an end to it and let Thomas have control again.

But not this time—and really, he didn’t want to, anyways.

Because this was _so much better_.

“ _Ha_!”

Remus claps his hands, pulling them apart to reveal a mass of slime with eyes, smiling a wide, proud smile when Virgil whoops and claps, leaning forward to give it a small poke. The creature shudders before falling from Remus’ hands, turning into a ball of spikes on the floor.

“Probably saw it in a movie once,” the green-clad Side comments, kicking the creature aside when it tries attacking Virgil’s ankle. “It’s fun for party tricks. Dumber than a bag of rocks, though—it still hasn’t learned to avoid fire.”

Virgil whistles. “Neat. Is there more of those lil’ guys, or is it just him?”

“Just the one. Though I’ve been tweaking it so that eventually it’ll be able to multiply into a tiny army of spikey eyeball bastards.” Remus gasps, leaning forward, almost nose-to-nose with the anxious Side. “Oh! You know what would be cool? One that could fly.”

Virgil can’t help but grin back, “What about one that spits acid?”

The other’s smile widens. “Oh, that’ll _really_ get ’em goin’.”

Thomas watches from just within their reach, his eyes clouded over and expression blank. He sways slightly, staring straight ahead despite the conversation happening in front of him. A shadow reaches for him from behind, slowly snaking around his waist and holding him in place.

Whatever. Not like he’ll be moving anytime soon, anyway.

“I think it’d be funny if they could turn into penises.”

Virgil laughs, “Ew, gross. Just a bunch of monster penises running around? No thanks.”

“But you laughed.”

“I _did_ laugh, yeah.”

Remus winks, poking at the floor, seemingly awed by the way his hand sinks into the ground and into oblivion. He snorts. “You know what this makes me think of?” he asks, nodding towards his vanished hand.

Virgil hums, “I dunno, Rem. What’s it make you think about?”

“A guy getting his hand bitten off and then having to fight a giant monster.”

“Oh, wow.”

“And then he gets eaten. Just, fully swallowed! Gone!”

“No kidding.”

“Actually, that sounds like a great idea!” Remus pulls his hand free and whips around to Thomas, his face practically glowing with excitement. “Say, Thomas, how’d you like to experience vore, up-close and personal?”

Thomas winces, blinking to refocus on Remus, “What?”

“He’s asking if you want to get eaten by a monster,” Virgil says with a shrug. Then, as an aside, says, “I wonder how that would work, given that you’re the host. Do you think he’d feel anything, Rem? Or would it just be like, ‘oh, this is happening,’ and then he just comes out and is fine?”

Thomas pales, “Uh—”

“Beats me! Only one way to find out, though, right?”

 _No, no, no, no, no_ —“I…I don’t know—”

Virgil leans against Thomas’ shoulder, and Thomas flinches— _hard_. His mind fogs, spins, the shadow around him receding and falling away; and for a moment he wonders if he’s going to puke—or explode, considering all he can think is

_Wrong wrong wrong this is wrong this isn’t fair this isn’t fair this is your fault your fault your fault_

—and then Virgil leans back, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, and Thomas’ mind clears enough for him to think _please stop doing this to me_.

“That’d be a no,” Virgil says, blowing his bangs from his face.

Remus pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hm—well, whatever. I guess that means I’ll just have to do it!”

Virgil raises an eyebrow, “What?”

Remus snaps his fingers—and a giant fish head rises around him and snaps its jaws, Remus disappearing from sight.

Both Thomas and Virgil scream, scrambling away, “What the _fuck_ —”

Hands grab them from up above, and they let out another set of startled screams as they’re pulled up, up, up—up into a tree made of arms and hands, its branches ending in heads with fiery eyes that let out a screech loud enough Thomas wonders if he’s going to pass out just from the sound.

And then they hear laughing, and they both look up to find Remus sitting on a branch above their heads, the Side giving them a wave and a wink.

“Gotcha,” he says between giggles, “gotcha good! Oh, you should have heard yourselves—probably the best screams I’ve ever heard!”

Thomas frowns, opening his mouth to speak—when Virgil erupts in a fit of giggles next to him, the human turning in shock to find the Side covering his mouth and climbing to sit next to Remus, only laughing more when Remus throws an arm around him.

“You’re a real asshole,” Virgil tells him, knuckles flashing white as he holds onto the branch beneath them.

“Maybe,” Remus hums, “but you love me.”

“I do.”

A pause.

“…You do?”

Virgil blinks, confusion clear on his face as he says, “Yeah…?”

The look on Remus’ face is unreadable. “You love me?” he asks, his tone low.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Virgil’s face turns scarlet, the side quickly looking away, “Oh, I—I mean, yeah, I just—I didn’t mean to say it out loud—”

He stops when Remus pulls him into a hug, crushed against the other’s chest to the point he can barely breathe.

“I love you too.”

Virgil’s face darkens further.

Oh. Well, that worked out.

Remus shakes, and Virgil hesitantly wraps his arms around the other, smiling and leaning against him as though his life depended on it.

Thomas watches from below, his face returning to its usual blank expression, and he turns away, looking down at the ground with a hand pressed against his chest. His mouth twitches into a frown but is quick to return to its neutral position, the human sighing and lying back on the branch, staring at the detached heads held in the hands’ grasps with a disinterested, bored, and slightly irritated glint in his eyes.

Virgil pulls away from the hug first, clearing his throat and refusing to meet the other’s eyes, “So, uh—”

“You know what this calls for?”

Virgil blinks. “…No?”

Remus grins, taking Virgil’s hands in his own. “A party!”

Virgil can’t tell if he’s falling further in love with him or about to have a heart attack, “A—A party? Like, as dates, or—”

“Well, duh! Somebody’s gotta be my hot piece of ass!”

Virgil feels his voice die in his throat. He opens his mouth, trying to think of something to say, when Remus lets go of one of his hands and snaps his fingers, the tree below them shrinking and melting into a dance floor. Virgil yelps and instinctively clings tighter onto Remus’ arm, who gives him a small pat on the head before waving a hand in the air, the room filling with all kinds of monsters and creatures Virgil can’t even begin to describe.

Thomas’ face turns green, and he sways on his feet, eyes half-lidded and hands twitching at his sides.

Remus spins Virgil around, and the next thing the anxious Side knows, they stand in formal attire; Remus’ torn, shredded and green and Virgil’s his usual purple, his hoodie left untouched.

Virgil looks himself over, gently adjusting his tie and clearing his throat, “I feel like I’m back at court.”

“Eh, courts, courting, same thing,” Remus says with a shrug. Then, pulling Virgil closer, he says against the other’s ear, smiling so wide that Virgil can practically feel it against his skin, “So, how about a dance?”

Virgil shivers, looking over to where Thomas stands, alone and looking terribly out of place, looking both annoyed and scared all at once—and Virgil feels that old, familiar need, that sensation that tells him _protect Thomas at all costs_ , that pull that puts him on edge and makes his skin crawl and his mind go blank—and then Remus pulls him into the crowd, and the feeling passes.

 _A dance_ , he thinks to himself. _It’s just a dance. Who cares, right?_

Remus pulls him through the crowd by his hand, greeting the various grotesque faces they pass and at times explaining how they were made (“I made this one after Thomas watched a zombie movie and one of the zombies’ faces got blown off, but I wanted to see what they would look like with the face stitched to their chest.” / “Wow, that’s so fucked up.” / “Thank you!”) but eventually moving on. He hums a tune under his breath, and it’s not until Virgil falls into step next to him that he realizes that music is playing, the Side looking around for speakers before remembering _oh, yeah, we’re not in the real world, no need for speakers_.

_Panic and stress_

_Oh, ain’t it the best?_

_The sound of a heart exploding_

_Inside a chest_

_It fills you with pride_

_We’re ruining lives_

_Ain’t it the sweetest noise in town—_

_That beautiful sound!_

“Oh!” Remus snaps Virgil back to the situation before them, Virgil turning to find the other with a light blush on his face, which causes the anxious Side to pause, both awed and surprised. Remus grins at him, twirling him around before letting his hand go, saying, “I gotta do something. Be right back!”

“ _Wait_ —”

But Remus is already gone, disappearing in a black cloud of smoke.

Virgil blinks, looking around at the crowd of monsters, suddenly feeling small. And crowded. And uncomfortable.

Ah, right. Anxiety. Almost forgot what that was like.

He jumps when he feels someone tap on his shoulder, turning to find a tall, misty figure standing behind him, holding out a tendril for him to take.

Virgil forces a smile, slowly reaching forward and taking it, “Uh, thanks— _oh_ —”

He’s spun around, and the tension in his body immediately melts away, the Side having a sinking suspicion that the monster is somehow to blame. He doesn’t mind, though; Virgil letting out a laugh as the misty monster wiggles, mimicking its movements even though it felt incredibly childish and silly. The monster spins him into another shadowy figure’s arms before dissipating, leaving Virgil with a new dance partner and an odd little buzzing in his head that calls out for more.

And the same song-and-dance continues, Virgil being passed from monster to monster to the point he’s left breathless, laughing and clapping along to lyrics he admittedly can’t hear but not caring anyway, either too hyper or delirious to be bothered by much of anything.

Which, all things considered, it’s probably delirium.

Thomas watches from the corner of the room, rolling his eyes hard enough to give himself a headache. Shadows wrap around his ankles, but he ignores them, even more so when a monster or another tries to pull him into a dance, sticking to the wall and swallowing down vomit. _It’s just a dance_ , he tells himself. _Who cares?_

Virgil stumbles into his next partner’s arms, cackling, his grin only widening when he hears, “Enjoying yourself, Virgie?”

He looks up to Remus, the other mirroring his grin as he wiggles his fingers in the air, eyes glinting with mischief. “I got you something.”

Virgil sputters, though Remus keeps him on his feet, spinning them both around and pulling Virgil closer, the other Side struggling to make words, “I—oh, I—I don’t have anything for you, though—”

“That’s alright! It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, anyway; didn’t have much of a notice beforehand.” Remus winks—then, without any warning, he pulls out of Virgil’s grasp and wraps his fingers around his wrist, breaking off his own hand.

Virgil startles, breaking off into a laugh, “Holy _shit_ , Rem—”

He stops when Remus gently takes his hand and holds it palm-up, turning the detached hand upside-down. A bloodied piece of jewelry falls into the palm of his hand, heart-shaped, golden and heavily decorated from top to bottom, his name written on the front of it.

A locket.

Virgil stares at it with his jaw hanging open, his eyes blown wide.

Remus chuckles, snapping his hand back into place and wiggling his fingers, rolling his hand around in its socket to hear it click. “Roman used to talk about this bullshit idea involving enchanted jewels that could point out who your ‘true love’ was,” he explains, leaning forward and running a finger down the locket’s chain. “I think true love’s bullshit, honestly, but I think he had a point about the whole ‘give hot guys pretty necklaces’ thing.”

Virgil turns the necklace over carefully in his hands, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Noticing a switch on the side, he clicks it, flinching when it opens, expecting a loud scream or a dead rat or maybe a dismembered piece of someone.

But, when he looks closer, wiping blood away from the cool metal, he finds something much simpler, much kinder, that makes his heart stutter in his chest and a warmth wash over him he hasn’t felt in months.

“ _May your heart remain free_

_So it can keep singing_

_The sweetest melody_

_I’ve ever heard_

_Love You,_

_-Rem_ ”

Remus rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “It’s stupid mushy-gushy bullshit, but I tried,” he says, shrugging. “Figured you didn’t want something ‘problematic,’ so— _mmpf_ —”

Virgil cuts him off with a kiss, clinging to Remus’ collar to keep him from pulling away. When they do step back, catching their breaths and grinning from ear to ear, Virgil finds himself pulled back in, and if it weren’t for the fact Remus wraps his arms around Virgil’s waist, he’s certain his knees would have buckled beneath him.

Finally, once Virgil’s lips are sore and his head spins to the point he can barely stand, he pulls away, giggling with his arms wrapped around Remus’ neck. Blue and purple sparks come off his fingers when he snaps them, the locket slipping into place, the heart-shaped pendant lying still against his heart. “Didn’t realize the scary and erratic Intrusive Thoughts could be a romantic,” he murmurs against Remus’ neck.

Remus tightens his hold on him. “Didn’t realize the tough and untouchable Anxiety could be a tease.”

Virgil hums, eyebrow twitching when he doesn’t feel the familiar tug from hearing his purpose. Swallowing, he shoves his confusion down, pulling away to meet the other’s eyes, “It’s not teasing if I do it later.”

Remus’ grin turns wicked. “Oh, you’re a fucking _demon_.”

“What’re you gonna do about it—ah, _Remus_ —”

His words trail off into a laugh when Remus picks him up and spins him around, clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline as he’s pulled into another kiss, the crowd around them erupting in cheers.

Thomas watches, hands pressed over his ears and mouth twisted into a grimace, the human trying and failing to ignore the shadows crawling up his body, burning everywhere they touched. _This is fine. Everything’s fine. They’re happy, even if I’m not._

_Who cares?_

_Who_ cares _?_

**_Who cares?_ **

And if the happy couple didn’t notice him sink out, well—it’s not like it mattered any.

Back in the only untouched part of the mind palace, Logan paces, arms folded behind his back and expression stern. His room is, to put it frankly, akin to a display; neat, clean, and tidy, with barely a breath of life inside. If it weren’t for the fact his room also housed a window that showed them the damage of Thomas’ mind, it’d be easy for them all to pretend that nothing is wrong; that their host isn’t, for a lack of a better phrase, rotting from the inside out.

Deceit lounges on the logical Side’s bed, swinging his leg and glaring at the wall, his hat twirling in his hands and his capelet thrown onto the pillow. Roman, meanwhile, sits at the window, his sword drawn and ready in case any of the beasts outside attempt to break in.

Logan glances at them occasionally, his gaze harsh and searching, studying them like as though they were both insects in a petri dish, before his gaze would wander to the rest of the room, face twisting with pain and annoyance—and he’d start pacing again, frown harsher than before, thoughts growing darker the more time passes.

It’s quiet; unbearably so, the only sound being the ticking of a clock in his ears and his spiraling thoughts.

_Get it together, Logan. Get it together. Thomas needs you at your best; slow down and calm yourself._

Roman peels his eyes away from the window to look at Logan, noticing how much he’s shaking. He frowns, “Hey, Specs, you good?”

Logan glares but keeps his mouth screwed shut, eyes flickering from Roman to the schedules on the wall, the different electronics and gadgets situated on the shelves, the antique computer on his desk, the books organized in alphabetical order that hold all of Thomas’ knowledge.

He snaps his eyes back to the floor, pacing back and forth, back and forth.

Roman and Deceit share a look, a silent argument had between them as they gesture to Logan:

_Talk to him._

_No,_ you _talk to him._

_I’m not about to end up as tonight’s dinner, Prince—you talk to him._

_No thanks, I like having all of my limbs._

“I may wear glasses, but I can still see with my eyes, you know.”

Roman and Deceit flinch, slinking back to their respective places. Still, their worry doesn’t cease, both of them frowning but refusing to speak up.

Logan pauses, staring, taking in their expressions—uncomfortable, tired, weary, afraid—before he stops, his expression suddenly going blank. He walks over to his desk and looks over the objects organized on its surface, picking up one of the devices and looking it over.

“…It has been three months, three weeks, four days, five hours, and thirty-four minutes since Virgil called Remus here.”

More concerned glances. The others stay silent.

Logan tosses the gadget around in his hands, testing its weight, gaze intense—before he throws it at his computer, the screen exploding with a cloud of sparks before caving in.

Roman jumps to his feet, “ _Hey_ —”

“That means it’s been three months—”

Logan picks up the computer.

“—three weeks—”

He slams it onto the floor, bits of metal and wiring flying everywhere.

“—four days—”

He tears at the schedules on the walls and chucks them into the corner of the room.

“—five hours—”

The shelves come tumbling down, everything on them following close behind and smashing against the floor.

“—and thirty-four minutes since we were _locked up in here_.”

Roman and Deceit stay frozen in place, watching as Logan heaves breaths, face red and eyes a dark blue, the other Side shaking from head to toe as he stands in the middle of the ruined room. Though neither of them would ever admit it, fear is written across both of their faces, as readable as an open book.

Then, clearing his throat and fixing Logan with an unimpressed stare, Deceit says, “Feel better, _Logic_?”

Logan pants, face growing hotter. Slowly, he walks over to the bed—Deceit immediately slipping off it and standing beside Roman—before collapsing face-down on top of it, screaming into his pillow.

Roman fidgets, tucking his sword back into its sash and stepping forward. “Logan,” he starts, mentally cursing the way his voice wavers, “What’s this about? We’ve been in here for a while; don’t see why now would be the time to cause… _this_.” He gestures around the room.

Logan mumbles something into his pillow, either not caring enough to lift his head or not having the energy to.

“Can’t hear you, Talking Calculator.”

Logan rolls onto his back with a groan, running a hand down his face. “I said that I’m _depressed_.”

A pause.

“…Pretty sure depression doesn’t cause someone to go on a rampage,” Roman says with a strangled laugh. “Besides, I thought you were Thomas’ learning and knowledge and all that. How can you feel emotions, especially to the point of feeling depressed?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Roman,” Logan bites back, jumping to his feet fast enough that Roman flinches back, even as Logan comes closer with fire in his eyes, “maybe it’s for the same reason you can feel pride whenever Thomas creates something or joy whenever someone likes something you’ve made. Maybe it’s for the same reason _Deceit_ —” a wild wave of his hand in Deceit’s direction, “—can feel satisfaction whenever Thomas tells a lie and gets away with it or anxious when he thinks Thomas is in danger. Maybe it’s for the same reason that Virgil feels calm when he’s around Thomas’ friends or angry when Thomas does something that he knows will make his anxiety worse.”

“But that doesn’t explain how you can—”

“Just because I don’t understand emotions doesn’t mean I don’t have them!”

Roman snaps his mouth shut.

Deceit, watching from the sidelines, slips back onto the bed, slipping his capelet back on and hiding his face in his hat, shaking his head.

The redness in Logan’s face calms down, the Side slowly regaining control of his breathing. He takes a step back, hands flying up to his hair, “Logic is _never_ unbiased, Roman. There is no such thing as education material with no bias, because the people who write those articles had to pick and choose what sources to use and what information to present. And the reason for _that_ is because of a person’s upbringing and their beliefs—and yes, their emotions, because someone void of emotion is a very rare circumstance.” Logan turns back to him, tears in his eyes. “And after Patton disappeared, we all had to make up for his absence.”

Roman opens his mouth to speak but stops, catching the warning look Deceit shoots him from the bed. He waits.

“I never bothered much with my emotions when he was around because that was _his_ department. I figured that, if they ever got out of hand, I could just discuss it with him, and knowing him, he’d handle it. So when he—when he left and they started overwhelming me to the point I couldn’t think because I was just so angry and volatile all the time, I didn’t know what to do other than stay in my room until it calmed down. I didn’t know who to turn to because nobody else had any say in that department.” Logan bites his lower lip to keep it from quivering. “And it didn’t help that I made all of you think that I didn’t care.”

Roman feels like he’s been kicked in the gut. “Logan—”

“I didn’t hate you. I’ve never hated _any_ of you.”

“Logan, hey—”

“I just didn’t understand, so I never said anything, and now Patton’s _dead_ and I never told him I _cared_ —”

Roman wraps his arms around the other, Logan tensing up on the spot—before he crumbles, sobbing into Roman’s shoulder and returning the hug full-force.

Roman rests his chin on the other’s shoulder, sighing. “It’s not your fault.”

Logan lets out a hoarse laugh, “Isn’t it, though?”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault.”

Logan blinks. Pulling away, he fixes Roman with a curious, disbelieving look. “What?”

Roman gives him one of his I-know-more-than-you-do smiles, though this time without any malice to it. He pokes Logan’s chest, “Like you said, emotions aren’t your department. It’s your job to deal with the facts, and the fact is, emotions don’t make any sense.”

Logan snorts, “They made sense to _him_.”

“Yeah, well, Patton was an oddball. Stuff that didn’t make sense to us made perfect sense to him.”

Silence. Logan rubs at his eyes, sighing. “…I want to understand,” he murmurs. “I _need_ to understand. Things have changed, and—and I can’t help if I don’t know what’s happening to me, let alone Thomas.”

Roman swallows passed a lump in his throat. He places a hand on the other’s shoulder, “I know. Me too.”

“I want to get better.”

“Don’t we all?”

“I want to be there for all of you instead of pushing you all away.”

Roman bites his cheek to keep from crying. “I want that too,” he says, smiling through his tears. He wipes a stray tear away from his cheek, stepping back and taking a breath. “…Y—You’re not the only one who struggles with asking for help, Specs. And I know it’s rich—”

“None of us have money,” Logan says with a frown.

Roman rolls his eyes. “…What I’m trying to say is that I have a habit of hiding my feelings and pushing people away, but you ruined it.”

“You’re the one who said something nonsensical.”

“No, Lo, you just need to catch up on your—” Roman stops when Logan grins, the creative Side grinning back and shoving him away, “You’re an ass.”

“Perhaps,” Logan says with a shrug. “…But I wouldn’t mind helping you talk about your problems.”

“Gonna become my own personal therapist, Nerdy Wolverine?”

“Don’t call me that ever again.”

“The personal therapist comment or the nerdy Wolverine one?”

“All of the above.”

Roman snorts, rolling his eyes. “Alright, fine,” he sighs dramatically, slinging an arm around Logan’s shoulders. Then, smile fading, he asks, “Where should we start on the whole ‘rescuing Thomas from the spooky-scary monsters?’”

Logan gives him a deadpan look, “Don’t call it that.”

“Too late.”

A roll of his eyes, Logan pausing as he thinks it over, “Well…”

Deceit clears his throat, and both Sides turn to face him, watching as he slips his hat into place and stands, crossing his arms and giving them a sly smirk. “Well, if you ask me,” he says, “I think it’s obvious where we should start.”

Logan and Roman look at each other.

“Mind sharing, Jekyll and Lies?” Roman asks.

Deceit gestures to the window. “Virgil and his little friend have Thomas under their care, yes? _Somebody’s_ got to be with him and causing all this mess; I mean, it only makes sense. So, if we find them…”

“…We find Thomas,” Logan concludes. He frowns. “But—I doubt Remus is going to let Thomas go so easily.”

“Who’s to say Virgil will, either?” Deceit shrugs, a dangerous glint in his eye as he says, “He seemed pretty determined to get me away from Thomas, after all. Even more so to be listened to—with how long it’s been, there’s no saying what kind of effect that’s had on him.”

“Virgil wouldn’t hurt Thomas,” Roman says immediately, crossing his arms. He waves at the window, “He might be a little insistent at times, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to do that.”

“Perhaps not intentionally, no,” Deceit quips. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he _has_ , with the help of that, ah… _other_ Creativity.”

Roman and Logan look at each other.

“…Alright,” Roman sighs.

Logan whips around to glare at him, “Roman, you can’t seriously believe that Virgil would—”

“I don’t think he would on _purpose_ ,” Roman interrupts, holding up his hand to silence Logan, “but, just like the rest of us, he might be hurting Thomas without realizing it. Which mean that we need to find him and get him away from Thomas before anything else happens that makes Thomas’ mind even worse.” Then, staring at Deceit, he says, “And we’re going to help _all_ of them and make them realize there are better ways to deal with this.”

“Ah, yes, because Sides like Intrusive Thoughts and Anxiety are _totally_ going to be on board with that,” Deceit says with a laugh—before he pauses, confusion clouding his features. “…Huh.”

“What?” Logan asks, an eyebrow raised, “Did you realize how horrible obtuse you’re being?”

Deceit shakes his head, the Side wringing one of his gloves in his hands. “…Anxiety.”

Roman and Logan startle, “Hey, what—”

“Anxiety.”

“ _Don’t_ —”

“Anxiety.”

Roman and Logan flinch, looking around expectantly at the room, waiting for Virgil to appear.

…But nothing happens.

Logan messes with his glasses, swallowing down his panic, “But…that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sides can’t ignore a summons,” Roman mutters to himself, fingers tangling in his hair as his other hand instinctively reaches for the handle of his sword. “How—how come he didn’t show up?”

Deceit pales. He just shakes his head, slipping his glove back on.

Logan glances around at the trashed room, rubbing at his arm as he thinks it over—before his expression clears, turning to Roman, “Do you remember when King split?”

Roman narrows his eyes, “Kind of hard to forget that, Specs.”

“Let me rephrase,” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When you and your brother split—you gained different attributes, yes?”

Roman hesitates. “Well…yeah. There were two creativities, technically, so Remus was—you know—and I’m—”

“Creativity, yeah.” Logan rolls his eyes. He starts to pace again, finger waving around in front of him as he talks, “It took some experimenting to figure out what your purpose was, considering we that Thomas’ creativity had changed, but we did figure it out. We just had to find the right labels.”

“And this has to do with Virgil…how, exactly?” Deceit asks.

Logan bounces on his heels. “Well, he’s not gone, or else we would feel his absence. But he’s not Anxiety anymore, either, because he no longer comes when you summon him. Which means—”

“His purpose changed,” Roman breathes. Then, shaking his head, he says, “But—what _is_ his role if it’s not Anxiety?”

Logan frowns, “Not sure. It can’t be too different than his original function—we would have noticed it sooner.”

Deceit hesitates. Then, he says in a faint voice, “Does _Remus_ know that Virgil’s changed?”

They all fall silent.

“We need to find them,” Roman says, strutting over to the door.

Logan grabs his arm, “Roman, the door is charmed, you can’t just—”

“If we don’t get out soon, there’ll be nothing to go back to!” Roman pulls out his sword, lifting it above his head.

Logan pulls on his arm, Deceit grabbing his other arm to keep him from swinging down. “That doesn’t mean to charge yourself at a door marked by Intrusive Thoughts, Roman!”

“I’m not going to lose anyone else!”

Logan flinches, letting him go.

It’s enough.

Roman brings his sword down—

_Click!_

—right as it swings open, the Side stumbling forward into the hallway.

All three Sides look at the open door in shock, frozen in place.

“…Remind me to let Roman make reckless decisions more often,” Logan mutters under his breath.

Deceit sighs. “You really think that Roman opened the door?”

“I don’t, I just think the look on his face right now is hilarious.”

Roman—who had been too busy trying to get control over his erratic heartbeat—turned to glare at Logan, expression softening by the sound of the other’s laughter. He glances around at the damaged hallway, floorboards creaking underfoot and ceiling threatening to cave, frowning to himself. “…Do you think Virgil—”

“No, we would have known if it was him,” Deceit cuts him off, mouth twitching as he speaks. He steps out of the room, Logan following suit as the deceptive Side pauses, expression twisting into one of worry. “…It…couldn’t have been Remus, either. He would’ve showed himself to gloat.”

Roman nods in agreement. “Then who opened the door?”

Deceit opens his mouth to speak, a suggestion at the tip of his tongue, when a loud screech from down the hallway stops him in his tracks, the three sides turning in the direction of the noise.

They’d all become familiar with the shadows in the mind palace. It’s hard not to notice them, with how much they’ve grown and multiplied the last few months.

But, when they realize the tiny, shapeless blob at the end of the hall holds Thomas’ jacket, a whole new terror seizes their chests, warmth sucked right from their bodies and replaced with a cold, throbbing emptiness, vocalized in a single word:

“ _Thomas_.”

The shadow lets out another small cry before slithering around the corner, disappearing from sight.

Roman immediately runs after it, grabbing Logan by his hand, “Come on.”

“Wha—Roman, I don’t know if—”

“Thomas _needs_ us, Logan, don’t argue with me—”

They disappear after the shadow, and Deceit hesitates, standing alone, his hand outstretched but feet refusing to move.

He sighs, slowly lowering it and shaking his head.

“…Please let them be okay.”

He breaks off into a run, and after months of keeping it together, finally allows himself to cry.


	6. Good Old Fashion Wedding / Home

They found Thomas at the edge of the Subconscious.

Well, perhaps “found” isn’t the right word. After all, they are more or less being led on a metaphorical leash, pulled through familiar parts of Thomas’ mind now left in ruin with no sense of direction and no idea what to expect. And, once the trail had come to a dead end, they still aren’t sure what exactly they’re doing.

None of them had recognized him when they’d stepped into the Subconscious’ entrance, looking around with wild, fearful looks. The shadow slinks over to a giant, pulsing mass of shadow and black sludge, merging with it until the two became one, leaving them without a guide.

Alone.

Confused.

Afraid.

And no idea where Thomas is. This close to the Subconscious, its darkness reaching out and claiming everything in sight, there’s no way they would be able to find him here, no way for them to look without being destroyed, if he even is in this place to begin with. The most they could feel was Thomas’ signature warmth, strongest within this room.

Which, given the Subconscious’ history of eating everything in its path, did not sit well with them.

That is, until the mass of shadows moved, and they caught a glimpse of a sleeping face underneath it, wiggling and struggling to escape.

“Thomas!”

They rush forward, standing at his side, Roman unsheathing his sword and striking down. His sword goes straight through the shadow monster without hesitation.

The monster lets out a horrific scream, shrinking in size and stumbling, momentarily releasing their host.

“Deceit, help me grab him,” Logan orders, grabbing onto Thomas’ shoulders and pulling him from underneath the monster’s grasp.

Deceit picks Thomas up by his ankles, batting away a few stray tendrils and lifting him away.

The shadows reach for him again, hissing, spitting, trying to wrap around him and pull him back inside them, refusing to let go.

Roman swings at the monster once more, cutting away at its limbs, “Back! Get back—leave!”

It cowers, stumbling back and snapping its jaws. One of its tentacles lashes out, grabbing at Roman’s head, but the Side ducks, the stray tentacle whipping back and hitting it in the face.

Another scream pierces the air as it sinks into the floor, dissipating into nothing.

Logan and Deceit gently set Thomas on the ground, looking him over.

“Is he hurt?” Roman asks, putting his sword away.

“I would know if you let me actually look at him,” Logan replies with a stern look.

Roman holds his hands up. Then, crouching down at Thomas’ side, he says, “He looks…greyer.”

Logan frowns. Roman is right, of course; though Thomas’ form in the mind palace had slowly been losing its color before, now it’s completely monochrome—the human grey from top to bottom. He tentatively lifts the human’s shirt, checking for any wounds, “Well, besides the color change, nothing else seems to be different. I’d say he’s unharmed.”

“He has no color,” Deceit hisses, “You can’t tell me that that’s fine.”

Logan hesitates. “Well…it may not be, but we can handle that more than we can a Thomas who’s missing parts of himself.”

Roman shudders, “That…would definitely be a gross rendition of Humpty Dumpty.”

“…Did you seriously just reference a fairytale? Now, of all times?”

“I’m Creativity, Logan; this is how I rationalize situations.”

The logical side rolls his eyes, letting Thomas go. He dusts himself off and stands, “That creature from before—do you know where it went?”

Roman hesitates, wrinkling his nose, “Not really. It’s not from the Imagination, so it’s not like I can track it—”

“It’s not a figment?”

“Wha—no! I have standards, and it didn’t have Remus’ signature on it.”

“So you’re telling me that those things we’ve been seeing for months _aren’t_ from your brother?” Logan presses.

Roman frowns. He looks over at Thomas, biting the inside of his cheek, “No. Trust me, if they had been made by Remus, there would have been way more profanity and…distasteful gestures.”

“So neither of you made it?”

“Why are you interrogating me?” Roman demands suddenly, throwing his arms up in the air. “I’m trying to _help_ Thomas, not hurt him!”

“I’m asking because if it’s not from the Imagination, _where is it from?_ ”

The air around them becomes suffocating.

“We need to get him out of here,” Deceit says, drawing the others’ attention to him. He picks Thomas up and lifts him into his arms, grunting with the effort to keep from falling over. “If you two want to bicker, by all means, do so—but do it when we’re not standing at the edge of an abyss.”

“But what about Remus and Virgil?” Roman asks.

“What about them?” Deceit narrows his eyes, voice strained with the effort to keep it level.

“You’re the one that said they wouldn’t give up Thomas. If he’s here, where are they?”

Deceit’s annoyance evaporates. “…That…is a good question.”

“Wherever they are, we can deal with it after Thomas has recovered.” Logan turns to Roman, grabbing his arm. “Do you think you can get us to the front of his mind?”

Roman opens his mouth.

“I mean without being murdered by ‘spooky-scary monsters,’ in case it wasn’t clear.”

Roman closes his mouth.

“Wonderful,” Deceit grumbles. Rolling his eyes, he glances back towards the Subconscious, pulling Thomas tighter to his chest as he says, “Wherever we take him, it needs to be somewhere other than here. We’ve been here long enough as it is.”

“Where, though?” Roman asks, voice turning shrill. He waves his arms around, starting to pace, “I can’t think of a single place here that isn’t a boobytrap ready to go off.”

Deceit glares, “Would you prefer boobytraps or man-eating abyss?”

Roman thinks it over.

“ _Roman_!”

“What? I’m just saying, both are pretty bad. And at least the Subconscious is a familiar threat—I don’t know how to deal with the creepy-crawly death dealers any more than you do.”

“Aw, is my brother finally growing a spine?” comes a new voice from the entrance, everyone else freezing in place at the sound. “I knew you’d come around to the dark side eventually, Ro-Ro. And look—you even collected Tomathy for me!”

They turn around to find Remus walking up, smiling from ear to ear and radiating a sick, twisted kind of glee, his mace held casually over his shoulder. Virgil isn’t far behind, one hand clinging to Remus’ sleeve and knuckles pressed against his mouth, the anxious Side’s eyes blowing wide when he sees Thomas.

Whereas Remus seems unbothered and incredibly smug, Virgil shrinks in on himself, his panic causing him to shake.

Roman immediately steps in front of Deceit and Thomas, sword held in his hands, “Back off, Remus.”

The side in question laughs. “Aw, Roman, how sweet of you!” he cackles, “but I’ll have to pass on being penetrated for today. I just got myself a date, after all.”

Virgil chews on his thumb, merely blinking when Remus nudges him. He steps forward, voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, “What—what happened to him?”

Logan sighs, “We don’t know—”

Deceit interrupts him. “You tell us! He was with _you_ last!”

Virgil flinches. He takes another step forward, but Remus pulls him back, a yelp slipping from the smaller side’s lips, “Hey—”

“I’ll get him,” Remus reassures with a wink.

Virgil gives a wordless nod, his eyes still trained on Thomas.

Thomas, unconscious and barely breathing, held in Deceit’s arms.

Thomas, his host, the man he’d just seen hours ago, worse off than he’s ever been before, on the brink of death.

The man he’s been watching so closely that he can’t grasp how he didn’t realize how terrible he was doing.

How? How did this happen? How didn’t he notice it?

Virgil’s hand grips at the front of his hoodie, the Side wincing when he feels the lump of the locket underneath.

His throat closes.

How could he have been so blind?

Remus stands right in front of Roman, his mace swung around so that it’s held in both of his hands, giving the other a wide grin when Roman glares. “I think you have something that belongs to me.”

“Thomas doesn’t belong to you,” Roman snaps.

How could he have let it get to this?

“Au contraire! He most certainly does—or did you forget what happens when a person gives control over to one of their Sides?”

“Thomas didn’t give any of us control,” Logan corrects. “He lost control and you took advantage of that.”

How could he do this to them?

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that, what—Thomas stops caring and _you_ all are allowed to have your way with him, but when _I_ do it, I’m in the wrong? Is that it?”

“We shouldn’t have done it, either,” Deceit snaps. “We’ve learned from it—but oh, _do_ tell me how handing him over to you _totally_ isn’t going to kill him, I’d love to hear that reasoning.”

How could he do this to _Thomas_?

Remus bristles. “Who said anything about killing Thomas?” he barks out a laugh. “Sounds like someone’s been having naughty thoughts!”

Deceit hisses, Roman stepping in front of him to keep them separated. “Brother,” he says, voice breaking, “we really don’t want to fight. We just want to help Thomas.”

“You have a sword pointed at my chest, and you really expect me to believe that?” Remus’ grin widens. “Looks like you really _have_ gotten close with snake-breath over there.”

The ringing in Virgil’s ears gets louder.

This is his fault.

“Remus, you’ve had your fun, but Thomas needs a break. Whatever you and Virgil have done, it’s hurting him, and he can’t handle anymore.”

“Oh, come on, a little blood and gore never killed anyone.”

“Blood and gore?”

“The hell have you two been doing to him?”

This is _his fault_.

“Remus,” Logan warns, “step back.”

“Give back Thomas and I will.”

Roman holds his sword up higher, “You can’t have him!”

“I apparently can’t have anything when it comes to you!” Remus holds up his mace, preparing to swing. “You can’t keep pushing me away from him! I’m here because he needs me; you really think locking me away again and pretending like I don’t exist is going to ‘protect’ him from whatever the hell’s got you so freaked out?”

“We wouldn’t need to keep you away from him if you didn’t scare him the way you do!”

“He’s scared regardless! He has no morality—at least I’m trying to make him _feel_ something!”

A spark in his chest.

_Protect Thomas at all costs._

“ ** _Enough_**.”

The change in the room is immediate. Everyone turns to him, silent, Remus curious and the others terrified, watching as the tension in Virgil’s body melts away, replaced with a strange calm that contrasts with the fierce intensity in his eyes.

“Put away your sword.”

“Virgil—”

“ **Put away your weapons before I make you regret it**.”

Roman and Remus both immediately drop their weapons, both looking slightly miffed after the fact.

Virgil hesitates, pulling his sleeves over his hands and rubbing at his arms, looking at the Subconscious to find it growing wider. He shakes his head and steps forward, fixing Deceit with a stern look. “Give him to Logan.”

Remus whips around to look at him, “Wh—”

“He’s asleep either way, Rem; there’s nothing they can make him do, and there’s no way they can make him stay away from you.” Virgil gives him a wink, rolling his eyes. “And considering the rest of you want to go at each other’s throats, the only person I trust right now not to shove a spear into Thomas’ side is Logan.” Virgil narrows his eyes at Deceit, “Hand him over. And don’t make me order you—you won’t like it.”

Deceit does as he’s asked, glaring the entire time.

Logan carefully takes Thomas into his arms, taking a step away from the group. He clears his throat. “Okay…that’s settled. Now—”

“ **Shut up and don’t move**.”

Logan’s voice dies in his throat. The others grow stiff, a bright purple hue surrounding them and keeping them in place.

Virgil does his best to avoid looking at their faces after noticing tears in their eyes, expressions sharing identical shades of betrayal.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

_You’ll understand soon, just bear with me a little longer._

Remus hesitates, and, when he realizes that he hasn’t been embraced in a purple cloud, grins, turning to Virgil with a devilish grin. He bumps their shoulders together, “Nice going, babe.”

Virgil hums, allowing Remus to lace their fingers together, “No prob, bob.” Another glance towards the Subconscious. _Getting bigger_. He spins around, back facing the gaping void as he pulls Remus along. He lets out a scoff, “Least I could do. ’Sides, I didn’t want any interruptions.”

Remus quirks an eyebrow, smile widening, “Oh, yeah?”

Virgil smiles, and God, he hopes he looks coy. He digs his free hand into his pocket, pulling out a ring. It’s simple, carved out of bone with black jewels decorating its sides, but it does the trick, an awed look crossing over the other’s face and Virgil relaxing his shoulders in response.

Remus blinks. Laughs. “What, you gonna get on one knee, too?”

“I mean, no, though I’m sure you’d love me on my knees.”

“Touché.”

Virgil snorts, holding the ring up. “I, uh, felt kinda bad when you got me the locket, ’cause I didn’t have anything to give back, so I figured something equally mushy and gross would do the trick. And, y’know—promise rings are gross and mushy, right?”

Remus bounces on his heels, leaning forward to the point Virgil can feel his breath against his cheek. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you just wanted an excuse to show me up.”

“You hid a necklace in your wrist and tore off your hand to give it to me,” Virgil points out, taking an opportunity to glance at the ground. _Getting closer_. “Don’t think I could do any better than that even if I wanted to.”

Remus hums. Then, pulling back, eyes giddy and the hand holding Virgil’s squeezing hard enough that Virgil has to fight the urge to flinch, Remus says, “I’ll take it.”

Virgil smiles—genuinely, actually smiles, the side lifting Remus’ hand to kiss his knuckles. He slips the ring onto the other’s finger, Remus’ smile almost enough to leave Virgil breathless—and then he’s actually breathless because Remus pulls him into a kiss, the other Side burying his face in Virgil’s neck and holding him tight.

Virgil returns the hug and sighs, tears in his eyes and heart in his throat. He glances in the others’ direction, catching Deceit’s gaze, giving him a sad smile when he sees the realization dawn on Deceit’s face and the other side’s panic start to swell in his eyes, Roman and Logan not far behind.

Virgil teeters at the edge of the Subconscious, forcing himself to speak.

“ **Don’t let go**.”

And whether Remus realizes what’s about to happen, Virgil doesn’t know, because he can’t see his face; Remus enveloped in a purple hue, unable to move, unable to pull away.

But, Virgil does hear him yelp, feels him hold on tighter, and he sighs, allowing his tears to fall

as he leans back

and plummets into the abyss.

Remus shatters before Virgil.

Or, well, maybe it’s not shattering—it’s too slow to be, considering shattering is quick, swift, seconds in comparison to the minutes they spend in that embrace, Remus screaming, crying, cursing him out as bright white cracks appear and climb up his form, pieces of him falling and turning to ash. Virgil holds him the entire time, Remus having no choice, talking to him in a calm, soft voice that grows weaker the more Remus yells at him.

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I wish I never met you.”

“I understand.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Remus snaps, breaking off into a sob as the bright light cracks crawl up his sides. “I thought—I thought you understood. I thought you _liked_ me.”

Virgil swallows, trying his best to ignore the burning sensation in his fingertips. “I do,” he settles on.

“Then why are you killing me?”

“Because I love you more than I do Thomas.”

Remus startles. “Why is _that_ a problem?”

Virgil muffles a sob against Remus’ shoulder. “Our purpose is to protect him. To keep him safe—but we weren’t doing that. We h—” he clears his throat, “—we hurt him, Rem. And we can’t hurt our host, so I did what I had to do to help him. That meant getting rid of the both of us. It—” he coughs, “—letting go was the right thing to do.”

Remus shakes against him, another startled cry escaping his lips. “I d—I didn’t mean—”

“Neither did I.”

“I just wanted him to _listen_ —”

“I know. I wanted to be listened to, too. And we got that—but it’s time to go now.”

The white light crawls up Remus’ shoulders.

“…I don’t want to go,” Remus whispers, and Virgil holds him tighter, even if there’s barely anything left to hold onto and his hands feel like they’re on fire. “I don’t want _you_ to go. I was trying to avoid this—that’s the whole reason I talked to you the first time. The last thing Thomas needed was losing another one of his Sides.”

Virgil can’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, well, I’m stubborn,” he says through his tears, nuzzling against Remus’ neck. He closes his eyes, unable to stand watching the other’s form flicker in and out.

“Stubborn is right. Leave it to me to fall for someone who’ll drag me to death’s doorstep, kicking and screaming.”

“Kicking, screaming, and ready to spit in death’s face, maybe.”

“Wonder if I could tear ’im apart,” Remus mumbles wearily, leaning against Virgil now, voice hoarse from crying. The white light crawls up his neck. “Pin ’im against a wall and tear ’im limb from limb, steal his scythe and shove it up his ass.”

“Surprised that didn’t involve chopping him up to bits, spilling his intestines everywhere and feeding him to rats.”

“That’d come after.”

“Oh, right,” Virgil snorts, though quickly dissolves into sobs, starting to shake. The pain crawls up his hands, moving up his arms now.

Remus grows quiet, and for a moment, Virgil thinks this is it—that’s the last he’s ever going to hear Remus speak again. But then he feels the other kiss his neck, feeling the other smile against his skin. “I’ll let you help, if you want.”

Virgil hums. “…Okay.”

“We could have a wedding over death’s dead body.”

“Ha—sure. Whatever you want, Rem.”

Remus grows lighter in his arms.

“I know I said it, but—I _don’t_ hate you.”

“I know.”

“I love you. Like, a stupid amount. A really stupid, mushy amount—which I hate you for, because you made me soft, and I don’t care for that shit at _all_.”

Virgil chokes. “I love you too, Rem.”

Silence.

Then—

“See you on the other side, Virgil.”

Remus shatters into a thousand shards of bright light, and Virgil, his form flickering as the white light climbs up to his shoulders, _screams_.

The moment Virgil and Remus fell into the abyss, the others are free from Virgil’s command, stumbling forward and to the edge, disbelief written on their features.

“Virgil,” comes Deceit’s strangled voice, staring into the dark with tears streaming down his face, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, “Virgil, no—no, no, no, no, _no_ —”

Roman falls to his hands and knees, shivering, face growing pale as he stares at the ground, gaze somewhere far, far away.

Logan steps away from the edge, trying to keep Thomas away from the Subconscious’ grasp. His vision blurs, but he shakes his head, face growing stern. “I—”

The ceiling above flashes green, and the mind palace shakes, the Sides struggling to keep their footing as a sharp pain stabs at their chests, the breaths knocked out of their lungs.

Roman screams.

Deceit’s murmurs become frantic.

And Logan’s left holding Thomas against his chest, the human whimpering in his sleep, the side’s thoughts frozen with a terrifying realization.

Remus is gone.

Virgil’s not far behind.

His eyes light up.

“Virgil’s not gone yet.”

The other two turn to look at him, confused.

“He’s in the Subconscious,” Deceit hisses. “What the fuck do you mean he isn’t gone?”

Logan’s grip tightens around his host. His gaze hardens, the side straightening his shoulders. “He hasn’t faded _yet_. We can still save him.”

“How?” Roman croaks. He sniffles, chest heaving with the effort to breathe, “We can’t go after him—it’d be suicide.”

Logan hesitates. A fair point. Following after would be a sure-fire way to kill them all and leave Thomas defenseless, maybe dead himself, but they were running low on time and they needed to get Virgil back—

“A summons.”

Deceit growls. “How are we supposed to do that when we don’t know what his purpose is?”

“We figure it out,” Logan snaps back. Then, looking down to Thomas, noticing how shallow the human’s breaths have become, he sighs, taking another step away from the Subconscious. “It—it can’t be that hard. Virgil couldn’t have become something completely different from Anxiety—it had to have a connection to Thomas’ emotions, something that had to operate as a way for him to determine what to do and when, something—”

He stops, eyes widening.

“…You figured it out,” Roman murmurs, “didn’t you?”

Logan doesn’t respond. Tears fall down his face.

Then, he inhales, closing his eyes and calling out into the darkness.

“Morality.”

_Morality_.

“…Hey, Pat. I know it’s been a while since I tried reaching out, but—I’ve gotten myself into a bit of trouble here.”

White light, crawling up his legs, up his stomach.

Virgil swallows, clearing his throat. “I could really use your help, Pop. I’ve—I’m probably just talking to myself, but I really don’t know what to do, and—and I’m scared.”

Up his sides.

“Thomas isn’t doing too good. We’ve all—we all really fucked him up, and I made things worse. It feels like no matter what we do, we just make it _worse_. I feel like I’m making things worse, and I thought I was doing the right thing, coming here, but now I’m a murderer and I’ve left Thomas and them all alone.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Some friend I am, huh?”

Up his chest. Virgil can’t feel the burning sensation anymore, but maybe that’s just shock. Whatever the case, exhaustion starts to pull at the back of his eyes, a feeling he forces away with a quick shake of his head.

“I don’t—I don’t want to keep hurting people. I don’t want to be seen as that scary, evil monster I used to be. I just want Thomas to be okay. All I’ve ever wanted is for them all to be happy, but especially Thomas. Especially right now, after—after I messed it all up.”

Getting harder to breathe.

“I’m really sorry, Pat.”

 _Morality_.

Feeling lighter.

“I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want _them_ to forget you.”

_I just don’t know what to do._

The light creeps up his spine, into his neck. _Anytime now._

Virgil lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. His fingers brush against the locket around his neck, and he holds it, eyes itching with the need to cry but no tears surfacing.

“I’m not going to let them forget.”

A strange feeling swells in his chest.

“I promise.”

 ** _Morality_**.

CRACK.

He rises.

Virgil tenses, looking around with furrowed eyebrows and mouth hanging open, unable to make sense of the sudden pull in his chest or the familiar feeling of being needed elsewhere. He winces when the white light around him hisses and falls away, the Side hissing as the comfortable numbness that had washed over him ebbs and leaves every single one of his nerves on fire, his arms and legs regenerating, his usual black hoodie flushing blue and purple patches radiating heat, a silent scream bubbling in his throat as he rises up, up, up—

He’s gathered into someone’s arms, ripped away from the Subconscious in favor of a firm embrace.

Virgil blinks, his brain coming up blank.

“You’re okay,” someone says, and he recognizes it as Deceit’s voice, thick with tears. “You’re okay.”

Virgil feels the other pull away, and, his reaction time still struggling to keep up with him, winces when Deceit takes off one of his gloves and smacks him over the head with it.

“Do that again and I will murder you myself.”

Virgil doesn’t know why that makes him laugh, but it does.

“Oh, _do_ keep laughing, you fucking _dunce_ —”

The laughter turns into crying.

“That is _not_ what I meant!”

“Deceit,” a new voice—Logan, he realizes—speaks up, “he’s in shock. Stop yelling at him, it’s not going to do him any good.”

“Yeah, Dee,” Roman adds, “Chill out.”

“He’s…he’s part snake, Roman. He can’t ‘chill.’”

“Can you stop taking my words literally for five seconds?”

Virgil sways, tremors running along his skin and making him hyperaware of the fact he’s being touched. Slowly, struggling to keep himself upright, he wiggles his way out of Deceit’s arms, stumbling back. He looks down at himself, fingers pinching the blue fabric of his sleeve, “Wh—how—”

“We summoned you,” Logan says matter-of-factly, adjusting his glasses to keep them from falling off his nose. “We figured that doing so would pull you out of the Subconscious, and we were correct in those assumptions.”

“Are you alright?” Roman asks, rushing over—then immediately backpedaling when Virgil flinches back, holding his hands up, “Alright, fine, I won’t come to you—but seriously, how are you feeling?”

Virgil hums, reaching up and scrubbing at the side of his face, “I…I’m feeling…I’m definitely feeling.”

The others look at each other, Deceit rolling his eyes, “ _That’s_ specific.”

“How—how did you summon me?” Virgil asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It…it hasn’t been working lately.”

More silence.

“Virgil, do you—do you seriously not know?” Roman asks.

Virgil frowns, “Know…what?”

More silence; more staring.

Deceit sighs. “Who wants to tell him?”

Roman takes a step back, holding up his hands.

Virgil’s frown deepens, “Tell me what?”

Logan hesitates. Casting a glance down at Thomas, he clears his throat, taking a step in Virgil’s direction.

Virgil tenses up, “What’re you d—”

“Hold out your arms.”

Virgil blinks. He looks at Thomas, his heart jumping in his chest, “I don’t know if I—”

“Just do it, Morality.”

Virgil freezes, feeling as though he’d just been shocked—though the command isn’t something he can ignore, the side’s eyes widening as he pulls his hands out of his pockets and reaches out.

Logan sighs, giving him a patient, almost apologetic smile before handing Thomas over—

Virgil’s knees buckle underneath him, stopped short of collapsing by the other Sides supporting him. Colors flash in front of him, his head growing fuzzy and light, muscles relaxing as though he’d just slipped into a warm bath—ironic, considering how ice-cold his skin feels. His heart threatens to seize up, too many thoughts and emotions registering at once, and Virgil gasps, instinctively pulling Thomas closer to his chest.

_Bad bad this feels bad it feels wrong why is everything wrong_

_Burning hot raging fire I want to break I want to scream I want to fight_

_Alone alone cold and alone I don’t want to be all alone_

_Scared_

_Hopeless_

_Unheard unwanted unnecessary just go go go_

_It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts_

_Hates me_

_Sorry sorry_

_Tired_

_Don’t care don’t care don’t care I can’t care it hurts to care I want to care but I can’t why can’t I feel anything what is wrong with me_

“—irge, Virgil, Vi, hey, buddy, come on—”

“—eathe, you need to breathe—”

Virgil gasps, panting, aware of people holding him but vision too blurry to see them, his grip on Thomas tightening to the point his knuckles flash white. His skin burns and his head swims, but his senses slowly return to normal, the Side leaning heavily against his friends as the emotions wash over him.

Thomas doesn’t so much as stir in his hold, though his breathing returns to normal, the twisted look on his face relaxing if only slightly.

Virgil stares at him, trying to find the words to describe what he’s feeling.

All that comes out is, “Holy shit, that’s a lot.”

“I didn’t realize it would be so much,” Logan admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He gives Virgil a sheepish smile, saying, “I should have realized, with how long P—the old Morality’s been gone, it would be…overwhelming.”

Virgil nods mindlessly, hiding his face in the human’s hair. He closes his eyes and forces a breath through his nose. “Yeah, well—maybe we shoulda done that at a time where I didn’t feel like literal death.”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“So, that’s it?” Roman asks, looking between Virgil and Thomas. “He can feel again—things are good now? He’ll wake up and we can just move on?”

Virgil hums, rubbing at his temples. After everything that’s happened, he’s not going to complain about a headache. “I can feel his emotions,” he mutters, his voice faint, “but I don’t know if _he_ can feel them. He’s asleep.”

Logan hums, an eyebrow raised, “You can’t check?”

Virgil hesitates. Fingers twitching, he places a hand over Thomas’ chest, closing his eyes.

 _Well_ , he thinks, _at least his heart’s beating fine_. “Nothing,” he reports. “No idea what to do about that. As far as I knew, Patton—” he notices the other flinch but ignores it, “—contained feelings Thomas felt. Didn’t think it could work if Thomas couldn’t feel them, y’know?”

“But they’re _his_ emotions,” Deceit says, eyebrows raised. “And I’m not keeping them from him, so he should be able to feel them.”

“Emotions aren’t your department, Dee.”

“Maybe not, but lying _is_.”

“Maybe, but emotional repression is a lot more than just lying to yourself.”

Deceit rolls his eyes. “Okay, well—if that’s so, what do you suggest we do?”

Virgil sighs. Carefully, he stands, Thomas still collected in his arms. He starts forward and stops, face clouded over in confusion as he realizes he has no idea what they should do.

That is, until he feels another pull in his chest, and his eyes light up, heart swelling in his chest despite the nerves jumping underneath his skin.

“Well,” he says, “maybe he just can’t reach them because they’re locked up.”

Logan and Roman tense.

Deceit’s face falls. “You…you mean you’re going to take him into Morality’s room?”

“Got to.”

“Why?”

The pull becomes harder to ignore.

_Protect Thomas. Protect Thomas. Protect Thomas._

_Protect him at all costs._

“I _have_ to.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Roman asks. He grabs Virgil when the other tries to make a run for the exit, saying, “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but there’s a bunch of shadow-beasts running around that are destroying the mind palace as we speak. Shadows that almost ate Thomas not even twenty minutes ago. How do you expect us to get to your room in one piece?”

Virgil blinks. “Since when did you become such a coward?”

Roman sputters, “ _Excuse_ you?”

“You’re a _prince_.” Then, looking over his shoulder, he looks at Logan, “You’re basically a mad scientist in the making—”

“I resent that.”

Virgil points at Deceit, “—and you’re Self-Preservation wrapped up in a neat little snake-patterned bow.” He rolls his eyes, adjusting Thomas in his arms as he continues, “If anyone can handle a few little shadows, it’s us. And besides, we don’t have a lot of options left, all things considered.”

The others consider this.

“…And you’re _sure_ this will help Thomas?” Deceit asks.

Virgil doesn’t hesitate.

“It’s a start.”

Wind howling in their ears. Distant screams and shouts.

The sound of a heartbeat.

“Alright,” Roman sighs, pulling out his sword. “I’m in.”

Logan nods.

Deceit pauses, gestures towards the exit, “Lead the way.”

Virgil nods. The patches on his hoodie glow, the darkness at his feet receding.

He grins.

“Let’s go.” 


	7. Jump in the Line

“…Are you sure that you can handle this, Vi?”

They stand in front of Pat—of _Virgil’s_ door, shadows receding down the hall as they stare at the patchy heart stuck in the door’s center, glowing a gentle purplish-blue hue, radiating a sense of calm and ease that Virgil thinks is painfully overwhelming. The usual smell of hot chocolate, pine and jasmine is replaced with vanilla, lavender and cinnamon, a combination that’s almost enough to have Virgil melt through the floor if it weren’t for the fact that he’s holding an unconscious Thomas in his arms.

Virgil stares at the door warily, pulling Thomas closer to his chest. He clears his throat. “I mean, it’s not like we got much of a choice,” he says with a shrug, though he knows that the others heard the way his voice cracked given how tense they all become. He sighs, rolling his eyes, “You got any better ideas? ’Cause this is the last one I got.”

A gloved hand lands on his shoulder, “If you need a minute, we’d totally understand.”

“I can’t tell if you mean that or not, Mr. I-Speak-In-Fluent-Sarcasm.” Virgil glances down at his host, his lips pressing together into a firm frown. “…’Sides, I’ve messed this up enough, and—and it’s time he caught a break.”

Deceit narrows his eyes. Nudges him forward, “Do what you have to do.”

Virgil nods, turning to do just that—until he meets Roman and Logan’s gazes, freezing in place.

The silence between them grows tense.

“…It’s reasonable to be scared, Virgil,” Logan says, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He gestures towards the door with a nod of his head. “It’s been a long time since any of us have been inside, after all. It’s…it’s hard to say what kind of state his heart is in, given how long it took for someone else to be chosen for the job.”

“Though if anything happens, we’ll be there to catch you,” Roman adds. Then, with a smirk and a wink, he says, “Plus, I _am_ armed. I can kick any monster’s ass if they try to hurt anyone here.”

Virgil snorts. He decides not to point out Roman’s insecurity from just a little while ago.

Adjusting Thomas in his arms so that the human’s head rests against his shoulder, his hands slightly trembling and his eyes already wet with tears, he lets out a breath he’d been holding, tension melting from his shoulders. “Thanks, guys,” he says, giving the three of them a smile that could easily be mistaken as a weird twitch of his mouth, but they recognize it for what it is anyway. “You’re all great, really.”

Then, turning to the door, his expression hardens, the Side reaching forward and grabbing hold of the handle. Dust clings to his fingers as a cool sensation numbs his hand.

 _No more hiding_ , he tells himself. _No more stalling._

_Here we go._

_Click!_

The door swings open, and Virgil steps inside without hesitation, the others following suit after he waves for them to come in.

Whereas Patton’s version of the room had been bright, colorful and warm, Virgil’s is cooler, muted and dimly-lit. Though the walls have Virgil’s usual dark décor, they all notice remnants of Patton’s time spent as Morality, like the stuffed animals on the bed and the photo albums lining the shelves.

Memories lie scattered throughout the room, blinking in and out of existence, some broken, some missing, but none having that exciting pull to them, that tempting energy that begs to be held and cherished.

No, the room doesn’t radiate any emotion at all, and that scares them more than anything else.

Virgil swallows thickly, tears blurring his vision.

_I’m so sorry, Pat._

Carefully, he sets Thomas down on Pat—on _his_ bed, pulling the covers over Thomas’ shoulders and taking a step back, looking around. A strangled smile crosses his face. “Wow,” he breathes out with a laugh, “this place is just as messy as I remember it being.”

“The heart never makes sense, so of course, it wouldn’t be organized,” Logan grounds out, the logical side wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing at his arms—something Virgil finds odd, considering the room isn’t all that cold, at least not to him. “As irritating as that is.”

Deceit walks over to one of the shelves and picks up a photo album, flipping through it and frowning. “I can’t see these,” he notes, his frown deepening as he holds it for the others to look at. “Can you?”

Roman and Logan share dual looks of confusion. “No,” they say in unison.

“You should be able to,” Virgil huffs—and they watch as he wanders idly to the desk, digging through the drawers almost robotically. He pulls out an old picture frame and sets it on the windowsill before turning to them, walking over as he says, “his emotions are repressed, but his memories are intact. Just because he can’t feel doesn’t mean he can’t recall stuff that’s happened to him.”

Deceit narrows his eyes. “Well…that doesn’t change the fact that the photo albums are blank—”

“I can see them just fine.”

The other three sides stare in shock at Virgil, “ _What_?”

Virgil, who had snuck behind the other sides to look over their shoulders, took the photo album carefully from Deceit’s hands, looking the pages over. He points to one of the photos, the others staring in shock as the picture clears underneath his finger, “Thomas’ first time talking.” He slides his finger down to the photo below that one, “His first steps.” Further down, “His first day of school.”

“Hey, that’s when Logan showed up,” Roman says, nudging said Side playfully.

Logan rolls his eyes, “Yes, well, _someone_ had to chronologize what Thomas learned in school. It certainly wasn’t going to be P—the old Morality, and it couldn’t be his Creativity; you hadn’t formed yet, and he was all over the place as it was.”

“Oh, you’re right! That was back when King was still a thing, wasn’t it?” Roman snorts, shaking his head. “God, we were so free back then. No worry about how people would judge us. Anything we thought about, we’d put to paper—such a simpler time!”

“It was a simpler time because nobody wanted to criticize a child,” Logan says, though they all see the smirk he tries to hide behind his hand.

Roman scoffs, a hand pressed against his chest. “It was simpler because we didn’t have so many ideas to sift through to see whether they were ‘acceptable’ or not—please, I can take constructive criticism when it’s given to me.”

Deceit grins, “Oh? Can you, now?”

Roman glares but doesn’t respond, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing.

Virgil’s mouth twitches into a smile. He flips the page and breaks into a laugh. He points at one of the memories, grinning at Deceit, “First time caught in a lie.”

Deceit’s face flushes, “I was just trying to keep him from getting into trouble!”

Virgil snorts, “He smashed a vase, Dad-Dee.”

Deceit blinks, startling, but recovers fairly quickly, clearing his throat and fidgeting with his gloves. “Yes, well, they didn’t need to know it was _him_ , now, did they?”

Virgil rolls his eyes but moves on, deciding not to argue. He flips forward a few pages and stops, hand hovering over one of the photographs.

Roman and Logan exchange a look, “Vi? Are you alright?”

Deceit immediately wraps an arm around the quiet Side’s shoulders, who still doesn’t move.

Then, rubbing at his eyes, Virgil taps on the photo and says, “First heartbreak.”

The room falls silent.

“ _That’s_ in the photo album?” Roman asks, his voice shrill. “But—Thomas had been so hurt, why would _that_ be in there?”

“Memories are not always positive, Roman,” Logan reminds him gently, giving his arm a small pat. “Though it’s important to remember the good that’s happened in someone’s life, keeping in mind the bad is also essential. Too much of either good or bad could lead to distorted thinking and deceiving one’s self from their reality.”

Virgil’s gaze is somewhere far away, the side looking over the page before shutting the album closed, slipping from Deceit’s grip and returning it to the shelf. He keeps his back turned to the others, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Virgil?” Deceit asks, his voice quieter than usual. “How are you feeling?”

Virgil doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t respond.

“Virgil?” Roman echoes, a slight tremor in his voice. “You okay?”

“…I lied to him.”

Confused looks all around, though Deceit is the first to speak, “What?”

“To Thomas. I lied _to Thomas_.”

“I feel like I would know about this if you had,” Deceit mutters, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t do it on _purpose_ ,” Virgil hisses, whipping around—and his eyes glow a bright blue, tears finally spilling over as he backs into the wall, sliding down to his knees. He pulls at his hair, forces a breath despite the panic welling up inside him. “…When Patton died—”

“Don’t—”

“—when Patton _died_ ,” Virgil presses, raising his voice enough to shut Deceit up before he could say anything else, “it was like—like nobody cared. Roman and Logan locked themselves in their rooms—”

“A mistake, we can all agree on that,” Logan adds, flinching when Virgil glares at him.

“—so he started listening to you—” he points a finger at Deceit, “—because _you_ told him that nobody would like him if he couldn’t feel, so he had to fake it in order to keep people around.” The anger bleeds away from him, Virgil’s face crumbling as he pulls his knees to his chest, trying to bite back a sob, “And I told him that you were right.”

The air grows colder.

“I told him that without Patton, he was a terrible person who was going to lose everything and end up ruining his life. I told him that I didn’t want to be a part of him anymore if that was who he was going to become.” Virgil throws his arms up in the air. “And I was _wrong_! He _isn’t_ a bad person! He never _has_ been, and considering all the shit that’s happened, I doubt that that’s ever going to happen in the future. Even when—” his throat closes, but he pushes forward, “—even when Remus and I were in control, he would never hurt anyone. He’d never go too far when Remus was pulling one of his ‘pranks.’ He still had enough sense to tell us no, and—and I kept ignoring it because I didn’t want to admit that the problem wasn’t Thomas, but _me_.”

Roman’s eyes blow wide, “Whoa, whoa, slow down, bud.”

“I stopped doing my job. I was too busy mourning that instead of pushing Thomas to get up in the morning and to keep going, to move _forward_ , I just hid away and let things get out of hand because I couldn’t move on.”

“Virgil, no—”

“And then I got it in my head that, because he was listening to Deceit, out of all of us—”

“Standing right here, you know.”

“—that there was no point in doing my job, because if he wasn’t going to listen to his logic or his hopes and dreams, why the hell would he listen to his _anxiety_?” Virgil snorts, shaking his head and laughing, a bitter, hollow sound that rattles in his chest. “…I hated everything. I hated every _one_ —and I went from keeping it in to projecting it onto Thomas and making him feel everything I was feeling, all the hate and the anger and the _fear_ —and now his life is a mess, people don’t want anything to do with him, he feels like _shit_ , and he’s scared of his new Morality because _I hurt him_.”

The room falls silent once more, save for Virgil’s quiet sobs and the faint thrumming of a heartbeat.

A heartbeat that grew louder, and louder, and louder the longer the silence lasted.

“…I’m not afraid of you.”

Virgil flinches hard enough that almost falls over. He looks over to the bed, eyes widening when he finds Thomas sitting up, the man drowsily rubbing at his eye and looking at him with an expression Virgil can’t read. “I—Thomas, I’m s—”

“I know.”

“But I—”

“I know. I forgive you.”

Virgil can do nothing but stare.

Thomas sighs, staggering to his feet and walking over to where Virgil sits, taking a seat next to him and leaning back, eyes unfocused as he looks at the other Sides in the room. “You’re not wrong about hurting me,” he says, words coming out slow as though he were thinking each one over carefully, “because you did. But the thing is, you didn’t mean to—”

“I would argue that I very much _did_ mean to,” Virgil mutters.

“—okay, well, not as much as you had, then.” Thomas shrugs. “And it’s not like you were the only one.”

The air grows even colder. Virgil wonders if a figment of someone’s imagination can get frostbite. “…He’s gone now. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Maybe physically, but not completely.” Thomas rolls his eyes, a smile on his face even though there’s no emotion in it. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about just Remus—though, yeah, he _did_ really mess me up, not gonna lie. But no, I was talking about them.”

Thomas gestures to the other three Sides in the room, who tense.

The beating heart falls silent.

“I don’t understand,” Virgil croaks.

Another roll of his eyes, “You’re going to make me roll my eyes hard enough they fall out of my head.”

“Gross.”

“But you said it yourself—you only did all of that because nobody else was listening to you, and you felt that you had to do those things to get me to listen to you.”

“Hurting someone just so that they’ll listen to you isn’t right,” Virgil says immediately, his tone firm.

“Your morality’s showing.”

The Side shakes. He looks away, fidgeting with his sleeves. “…Still don’t see how they’re to blame because I was being a stubborn shit about things.”

“Oh, really? You don’t?” Thomas starts listing things off on his fingers, “Roman stopped creating, stopped encouraging my hopes and dreams, my content suffered because I couldn’t think of anything to do, I stopped feeling inspired to do anything let alone the things I wanted to do—”

“Well, your pride is certainly taking a hit right now,” Roman mutters darkly under his breath. Then, rocking back on his heels, he says, “Sorry.”

“To be fair, that already happened while you were gone, so don’t worry about it, Ro.” Thomas winks—and then, to Virgil’s surprise, keeps going. “Logan became insistent on me abandoning my plans in favor of his own, he flat out refused to give any input on topics he deemed to be unimportant and childish even though I needed him for those decisions, my schedule became a mess and changed at the drop of a dime, my memory suffered enough to the point I couldn’t even remember simple things like if I’d eaten or if I’d actually dressed in the morning—”

“The point has been made, Thomas,” Logan says with a sigh, though Virgil doesn’t miss the way his hands shake. “I have failed you, and I deeply apologize.”

Thomas looks to Deceit, opening his mouth to speak.

“Don’t.”

The human just snorts, turning back to Virgil. He bumps their shoulders together, “The point is, it wasn’t just you, and the blame’s not totally on you. We all messed up, we all made mistakes—and yeah, I’m not going to lie, I am probably more hesitant than I ever have been to listen to you guys. But now we can work on moving forward and fixing all of this—together. Okay?”

Virgil blinks. “Okay.” He sniffles, fresh tears falling from his eyes as he wipes at his face with his sleeve, before he says, “can you—can you do that again?”

Thomas blinks, “Do what again?”

“The shoulder thing. And, uh, not move away.”

A look of alarm crosses Logan’s face, “Virgil, what are you—”

“Do you trust me?”

“What does trust have to do with—”

“Not _you_ , Logan,” Virgil snaps. “I’m talking to Thomas.”

Thomas blinks. Looks the Side over. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”

Virgil nods. “That’s fair.” He reaches for Thomas’ hand, stops. Pulls the hand away. “Am I allowed to touch your hand?”

“Depends,” Thomas responds coldly, “you gonna make me do something?”

Virgil shakes his head. “Nope. Never again—not unless you ask me to.”

Thomas considers this. Thinks it over. Then, his shoulders relaxing, he sighs, giving the other a nod and holding out his hand. “Alright,” he says.

Virgil smiles, taking the other’s hand in his own.

He squeezes—

_It’s okay to feel_

—and Thomas immediately bursts into tears.

The change is immediate. The lights in the room brighten, every object in the room seeming to breathe with life, a familiar tune playing in the background that puts a smile on all of their faces. The albums and books on the shelves glow with color and the pictures scattered throughout the room begin to move, cycling through memory after memory after memory. A blanket of warmth washes over them, and Virgil watches as his friends and family relax into it, looking around in relief.

Virgil gives Thomas’ hand another squeeze, his own spilling over as a shaky smile slips onto his face. “You’re okay,” he says gently, not bothered in the slightest when Thomas launches himself at him, wrapped in a tight embrace. “You’re going to be okay.”

Thomas shakes his head and buries his face into the Side’s shoulder. He doesn’t see for himself how the color returns to his form, nor how the hoodie he’s clinging to glows a bright blue.

And that’s okay, Virgil decides, slowly returning the hug as the others come over to comfort their host. Not being okay would have to work for now.

Months came and went, and though progress is slow, they did notice improvements.

Thomas started therapy. He didn’t put up much of a fight when they suggested it (Virgil knows deep down that the human knew he needed the help, as hard as it was to talk about everything going on) and weekly sessions with a therapist proved to be a good idea, giving him somewhere besides his head to discuss his issues, both inside and out. The shadows clinging to his mind receded, growing weaker by the day, and now they’re more of a mild nuisance than anything, easily dismissed by one of the Sides when they come across them. Still troubling, yes—but not debilitating.

A couple weeks after Virgil (figuratively) reopened Thomas’ heart, he got in contact with some of his friends. He didn’t explain everything—didn’t need to, nor did he want to—but he and his Sides were relieved to find that his friends were incredibly understanding and ready to help him in any way they could, if still concerned for his mental wellbeing. Which, really, nobody could blame anyone for being worried, all things considered.

A couple weeks after that, he returned to working on his videos.

“Routine will help add structure and stability to your day,” Logan reminds him.

“Not to mention that your fantastic ideas need somewhere to go,” Roman adds, “and finishing a project will certainly drive you to do more.”

Deceit looks between them all before he sighs, waving a hand in the air, “Your fans totally aren’t worried, either.”

Thomas groans. “I know,” he says, “but I just—I don’t know. I had an entire mental break—sure, some people are worried, but some are also incredibly pissed. It’s been long enough that it almost feels…wrong to go back to it, y’know? And I just—I don’t know if it’s what I should do or if I should just do something else.”

The room falls silent.

Then, all eyes turn on Virgil.

He sighs, rubbing at his temples. “Do you like making videos, Thomas?”

Thomas nods, “Yeah, but—”

“Do you think they’ll harm your health in any way?”

“I don’t think so, no...”

“Do you think that what you produce will positively impact people?”

Thomas doesn’t respond.

Virgil hesitates, looking him up and down, before he leans forward, looking directly into the human’s eyes as he says, “Let me rephrase. Do you think Roman would let you make something that would hurt people?”

“No.”

“Do you think that Logan would let you make something that would hurt your career?”

“No.”

“Do you think I’d let you make something that would hurt you?”

Thomas narrows his eyes, snapping his mouth shut.

“The answer is no, if you’re curious.”

The human deflates. He fidgets with his hands, “But—but what if something bad slips in and none of us catch it? What if I do something and it’s seen as—I dunno—wrong?”

“Then we deal with it then. We can’t do anything about something that hasn’t happened yet.”

Thomas blinks. “…Oh.”

“And besides,” Virgil meets Roman and Logan’s gazes as he says this, looking between them before smiling, “we’re all aware of the kind of content you want to put out. Even if something dark slips in and we don’t catch it, there’ll be plenty of good to balance it out. So, no worries.”

“Plus, even if you post something with more…sensitive topics, there are plenty of people who do enjoy those kinds of videos,” Deceit points out, meeting Virgil’s glare with a grin. “Just saying.”

Thomas thinks it over for a moment before nodding, moving over to his set-up, “Alright. Alright, let’s—let’s do this.”

And that was the end of that.

For all of two weeks, because after that, they were all sitting in Thomas’ living room, tense and uncomfortable as Thomas mentions the topic they’ve all been avoiding.

“People are wondering if I’ll be doing more Sanders Sides.”

“Yes,” comes Roman’s immediate answer, barely heard over Logan’s, “no.”

Deceit shrugs.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, trying his best not to sink into the staircase.

Thomas drums his fingers together, looking between them all with an uneasy smile. “So…that seems pretty conflicted.”

“Oh, come on, Logan,” Roman huffs, standing proud with his fist pressed against his chest, a dazzling smile in place as he says, “this is a perfect opportunity to cover new ground! It will give Thomas a great outlet for his issues, not to mention a place to talk and learn about how to handle the things we’ve all been struggling with!”

“Perhaps,” Logan says, glaring at Roman from over his glasses, “ _or_ it could make Thomas’ struggles worse, send him spiraling into a depressive episode, and cause him to go backwards rather than forward in his recovery. That is hardly something we need.”

“Well—creativity is a perfectly valid coping mechanism, isn’t it? And he doesn’t have to address everything, just some of it!”

“But does he want to?”

“Uh,” Thomas clears his throat, “guys—”

“He doesn’t have to do _anything_ ,” Deceit hisses, causing both sides to turn his way. “I’d say that if he is going to continue with the series, we move on as though nothing happened.”

“How is he going to do _that_?” Roman demands. He gestures to the room around them, “things have drastically changed since he last talked about us!”

“…Okay, you have a point there.”

A pit in his stomach. A lump in his throat. “Guys,” Virgil sighs, jutting a thumb in Thomas’ direction, “you might want to listen to—”

“There, see, Roman? Deceit agrees with me.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“He agreed with me more than you!”

“I didn’t say that, either!”

Virgil feels like he’s been dumped into a bucket of ice water, “Guys, c’mon, please—”

“Hey, girls, what’s happenin’?”

Everyone freezes, immediately turning to the source of the voice—finding Remy standing there, sunglasses on his face and a coffee in his hands, sipping calmly as he studies the scene in front of him.

Thomas leans back a little, letting out a faint laugh, “Uh, hi…my Sleep character? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah,” Virgil hisses, “What are you doing here, _Sleep_?”

Remy laughs. Shaking his head, he steps forward, making finger guns at Thomas and saying, “Now, now, easy, hot stuff. I’m only here ’cause you need me here. And, uh—” he gestures to his jacket, “—it ain’t Sleep anymore, babes. But you can call me Remy; I trust you guys enough to be on a first-name basis.”

“I already knew your name, R—” Virgil freezes, realizing what the other is gesturing to.

Specifically, at the symbol glowing a soft pink on Remy’s jacket, resembling a broken heart with a lightning bolt in the middle.

Everyone else in the room gapes.

“Holy shit,” Deceit mutters.

“How the hell did you get out of the Imagination without me realizing? Let alone without me noticing that you became a Side?” Roman demands, drawing his sword.

Remy bats the sword away easily, taking another step towards Thomas and chuckling. “I have my ways,” he purrs, grinning wider when Roman pouts. He turns to Thomas then, asking, “How you feelin’, boo?”

“Like shit,” Virgil mutters, face hidden behind his hands.

“Uh, I asked Thomas, bae, not you.”

“I literally contain his emotions, Remy.”

“Still asked him.”

Thomas sighs, scratching at the back of his neck, “Not great, Rem. Thanks for asking, though.”

Virgil flinches, something Remy takes note of.

“Oh, please, Remy’s fine,” the Side says, passing over the coffee. “Here, why don’t you drink this and put your feet up, huh?”

“We were in the middle of talking,” Logan points out.

Remy raises an eyebrow, “Talking or arguing?”

“T—”

“Lie,” Deceit immediately interrupts.

The logical side glares but doesn’t say anything, crossing his arms and avoiding Remy’s insistent stare.

“So, Mr. I-Drink-Pure-Liquid-Sunshine,” Virgil snarks, leaning forward with his chin in his hands and his eyes burning with distrust, “what’re you doing here?”

“Uh, helping Thomas, duh. Starting with a time-out and some good ol’ caffeine to pick ’im up.” Remy leads their host over to the couch and sits him down, placing his hands on his hips. He prods at the man’s chest with a fingertip, “no getting up from this couch until you’re better, y’hear?”

Thomas chuckles nervously, “I think I can handle talking to myself—”

“Ah, ah! Dr. Remy says rest, so rest.” Then, grinning wide, he strides over to where Virgil sits on the stairs, plopping himself down next to the other side and leaning back with his arms crossed behind his head. “So, raincloud, you wanna catch your homegirl up to speed, or what?”

Virgil grumbles and leans away from him.

“We’re discussing whether or not to appear in any of Thomas’ future videos,” Logan supplies, then, with a glare in Roman’s direction, he adds, “which we _shouldn’t_ , because it could cause unnecessary stress and flashbacks that Thomas doesn’t need.”

“Or we _should_ , because it could get a lot of that stress out and make him more comfortable with his work,” Roman retorts.

Virgil groans. He catches Thomas’ gaze and mouths an “I’m sorry” to him, to which the human just shrugs, sipping on his coffee and looking strangely out of it.

His Morality narrows his eyes but doesn’t bring it up, turning to Remy instead. “Thoughts?”

Remy hums, face scrunching up as he leans back, staring at the ceiling. He flashes a lazy grin Virgil’s way. “Sure, I’m down.”

The Sides stare at him.

“…And why is that?” Deceit asks, his eyes narrowing into slits.

Remy shrugs. “Serves my purpose and makes Thomas happy, duh.”

“And your purpose is?”

“Indulgence.”

Virgil tenses, whipping around to face him, “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Remy’s grin turns wicked. He sits up, lowering his sunglasses to peer over them, his gaze piercing as he looks each and every one of them over. “Look at it this way, babes: there’s a lot of spicy goodness bouncing around in this head—”

“That’s almost as bad as ‘juicy,’” Roman mumbles.

“—and not a lot is being done about it. Not to mention, Thomas is high-strung and being a boring bitch—and limiting everything he does, at that. Leaves a lot of tension and nothing being done about it.”

“Pretty sure we learned what happens when Thomas gives full reign to his ‘forbidden’ thoughts,” Logan says through gritted teeth.

“And we’re _not_ going back to that,” Virgil growls.

Remy holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say he should go full-blown animal, now, did I?” he points out.

A heavy silence follows.

“Look,” Remy stands, shoving his hands in his pockets, “the truth is, there’s a lot of ‘bad’ in here, but it’s all things that can’t be ignored. It’s gotta be maintained and addressed, or else Thomas is going to be worse off than he was before.” He looks at Virgil and winks. “Can’t have good without bad, after all.”

Virgil hides in his hoodie, his face flaring. The lump growing in his throat prevents him from speaking.

“So, what,” Roman waves a hand in the air, “you want Thomas to just—go back to doing things that he’s clearly stated has bothered him, or—”

“More like to get him to do things he doesn’t want to admit he wants to do.” At Virgil’s glare, he adds, “And I don’t mean the destructive kind, babe. I’m Indulgence, not Self-Destruction; not to mention that not _every_ thought Thomas has means he wants to do it.”

Deceit crosses his arms. “Meaning?”

Remy shrugs. “I’unno. I’ll just encourage him to do things he wants to do. Like, uh…catching some z’s. Starting those hobbies he keeps stopping himself from trying out. Eating food he likes and that Logan thinks he doesn’t like even though he _definitely_ has a bad bone in ’im and _definitely_ likes sweets—and don’t deny it, boo, I can feel it from here. You got a sweet tooth, and I think you need to eat some more often—might help you chill.”

Logan’s face goes red.

“And yeah, I do manage those nasty-bad thoughts that’ve got you quaking in your boots,” Remy says as he inspects his nails, “so yeah, I’m that bad creativity your mommy and daddy warned you about. But I’d only suggest an idea if Thomas _actually_ wants to do something with them. Otherwise, it’s nothin’ but fuzzy pajamas and Starbucks from me, no complaints here.”

Virgil considers it. Looks Remy up and down, studying him, looking for any underlying motive he should be on guard for. Searching for something that shouts “dangerous” at him.

But Remy _isn’t_ Remus. He may have taken over Remus’ functions, but he went about it differently, and in a way that benefited Thomas at that.

And even if Remus never had any ill intent, Remy obviously didn’t feel the need to be listened to. He just wants Thomas to be happy. He can just as easily go back to the imagination if he wasn’t needed, and he seems fine with that.

So, slumping his shoulders and flipping back his hood, he says, “Alright. You can stay.”

Remy winks and ruffles the other Side’s hair, “Thanks a bunch, girl. You ain’t gonna regret it.”

Virgil’s hair stands on end and his ears ring, but he just nods, giving a thumbs up.

“Vi, are you sure about this?” Roman asks. He looks between him and Remy, saying, “Just because he has good intentions doesn’t mean that we can trust him.”

Virgil sighs. “Remy, are you going to hurt Thomas?”

“Nope,” the other Side responds with a ‘pop’ of his lips, scrolling through his phone.

The other Sides look to Deceit, who blinks, tensing up under their stares. After looking Remy over, he frowns, sighing. “He’s not lying.”

“There you go.” Virgil leans back, his nerves slowly settling down. “Guess that means we’re doing that video after all, then.”

“Whoa, hey, we didn’t decide on that,” Deceit says.

“Mm, girl, you’re wrong about that.” Remy points in Thomas’ direction. “He totally wants to, he’s just scared about doing it.”

Everyone looks at Thomas, who lays on the couch, dozing off while they talk.

At everyone’s questioning glances, Remy giggles, shrugging them off, “My original concept involved sleep; didn’t leave that behind just to be a personal hype-girl.”

Logan groans, throwing his arms up in the air. Then, turning back to Remy, he asks, “Okay, but how do you suggest we do that? Especially with Thomas being so hesitant to work on more Sides content?”

Remy pauses, tapping his fingers on his knee. His eyes light up, the Side snapping his fingers. “Well, do they know about Vi-Vi’s new role?”

Virgil shrinks, “No.”

“Do they know about Patty-cake and the green goblin disaster?”

Virgil glares.

Remy waves a hand, summoning another coffee and taking a sip from it. He shrugs. “Just saying, if you want to cover your tracks, you might as well start with why you’re all down in the dumps. Plus, you’re gonna have to introduce me _somehow_ , and ya can’t do that without some backstory and a little bit of ugly-crying.” His grin widens, “and we all know me showing up would be the _perfect_ fanservice.”

“…We wouldn’t have to explain _everything_ ,” Roman starts slowly, meeting Logan’s gaze, “especially when it comes to the stuff Thomas doesn’t want to talk about. But he does have a point; that would be where we’d need to start, especially with Virgil being Morality and Remy being—”

“Indulgence, yes, I know,” Logan rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs. “…What would we discuss?”

“What do you mean?” Deceit asks.

“The Sides series usually involves a debate of some kind. Different perspectives on dilemmas Thomas has—what would we focus on?”

Roman, Logan and Deceit all fall silent, looking at each other with doubt and hesitation.

“…Loss.”

They turn to Virgil, any protests the other Sides might have had dying the moment they saw their Morality looking at the locket around his neck, looking at the inscription inside. An indiscernible emotion washes over them, forcing them to keep quiet.

Virgil snaps the necklace closed and runs his thumb along the chain, meeting their stares with his own tired, albeit fond expression. “Makes sense,” he says, shrugging. “Two dead Sides, loss of trust, no sense of self, no idea what’s good or bad—” then, nodding in Remy’s direction, he adds, “—and discussion on what comes after and the new beginnings people face after the fact. Losing someone you care about isn’t pretty, sure, but there’s a silver lining in the end, right?”

Remy perks up, turning to the Side with a smile stretched from ear to ear. He gasps, lightly punching Virgil’s arm, “Yes! You get it! Good job, girl—ugh, I’m _so_ proud of you right now.”

Virgil just shrugs, rubbing at the spot Remy punched, “It just seemed like something everyone could relate to in some way or another.”

The others hesitate. Exchange a glance.

Then, as if on cue, they turn to him with a mix of apprehension and defeat, saying, “Alright. We can do that.”

Because really, there wasn’t much they could do to argue against Thomas’ heart and his inner desires.

And even if Virgil felt like he was going to explode, they pulled it off, to mixed reactions and a much happier, more relaxed Thomas.

And months passed with the world still in one piece and the Sides coming together to keep their world from turning upside-down again, growing closer every day, so he took that as a sign that things were going to be okay.

And, if he occasionally pulled out the locket and quietly hoped that Patton and Remus were okay—that they could forgive him—then that wasn’t anyone else’s business but his own.

(And if, sometimes, the locket opened on its own during a time of privacy to reflect that familiar message of love and adoration; if, sometimes, he felt as though he were being held and comforted, encouraged with a gentle push forward or a gust of wind through his hair; if he sometimes heard someone speaking to him, telling him how proud they were of him and how far he’s come—and, well, if such things didn’t mean what he took them to mean, if they were just little hopes he believed to keep him going—nobody else needed to know.)


End file.
